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“mother, I WANT 


TO GO TO COI.I.EGE” 


t 


X 










ZiCH GlMl TO COLLEGT 

— BY— 


J 6. CLINKSOALES 


LABOR OMNIA VINGET 


W. F. BARNES. PUBLISHER 
SPARTANBURG, S.C. 


1904. 



UBf^KYof OO-'luStSS 
Two CoDifis tieceiveu 

DEC 27 im 

Oopyrifaiit tntry 
/2,/rr^. / v, / y c? V 
CUSS ^ XXc. Noi I 


COPY B. 




To the patriotic, self-sacrificing widows of the Caro - 
linas who, after the great Civil War, craved the best 
things for their sons, this book is affectionately dedicated 
by ' TH«t Author. 

Spartanburg, S. C., Nov. 5, 1904. 


CONTENTS 




I. ‘-Major, Whut’s That?” 6 

II. The Song of the Deer Skin i6 

III. Uncle Jack’s Find 22 

IV. Zach Tells His Mother of His Plans 28 

V. The Bee-Tree and the Coon Fight 35 

VI. Zach and Katie Under the Elm 44 

VII. First Experience at College 50 

VIII. Mrs. Youngblood’s Quilting 58 

IX. Katie Langford Defends Herself 65 

X. Zach’s Literary Society Work 78 

XI. Organize Sunday School 91 

XII. Political Meeting at Beaver Dam no 

XIII. Bill Cartlet’s Log Rolling 121 

XIV. “Now, Sir, You Must Fight Me” 128 

XV. Saturday Night in Moonshiner’s Still 135 

XVI. Joe Davis Would Put Zach to Sleep 148 

XVII. Jake Ilderton’s Conversion 157 

XVIII. Zack Wins His Diploma 170 


Copyright 190 Jf hy J. G. Clinkscales. 


“Many men owe the grandeur of their lives to their 
tremendous difficulties.” — C. H. Spurgeon. 


“If a man loves his neighbor from the heart, he will 
do him no wrong. If a man’s word is his bond, he needs 
no oath. All the outward observances in the world will 
not make evil thoughts blossom in righteous deeds. But 
if the heart is full of love, every outward act will be 
beautiful.” — J. R. Miller. 


“It is not by books alone, nor by books chiefly, that a 
man becomes in all parts a man. Study to do faithfully 
whatsoever thing in your actual situation, there and now, 
you find either expressly or tacitly laid to your charge; 
that is your part; stand to it like a true soldier. A man 
perfects himself by work much more than by reading. 
They are a growing kind of men that can wisely combine 
the two things — wisely, valiantly can do what is laid to 
their hand in their present sphere, and prepare them- 
selves withal for doing other wider things, if such lie 
before them.”— T/iomas Carlyle. 


“Whatever study tends neither directly nor indirectly 
to make us better men and citizens, is at best but a spe- 
cious and ingenious sort of idleness, and the knowledge 
we acquire by it, only a creditable kind of ignorance — 
nothing more.” — Lord BolinghroTce. 




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low Zach Came to College 


CHAPTER I. 

“That man is but of the lower part of the 
world that is not brought up to business and 
affairs.” — OwKN Fei^Tham. 

# 

O PARTANBURG, One of the leading cities in the 
^ Piedmont region of South Carolina, was once 
a hamlet, absolutely wanting in city ways and 
city aspirations. 

The modest little village was the “town’’, the 
market place, for the hardy mountaineers living 
in the border counties along the North Carolina 
line. To Spartanburg they brought their apples, 
chestnuts, turnips, cabbage, “taters”, and their 
corn — as much of it as they did not turn into 
“mountain dew”. Long trains of “mountain 
sphooper^’’, ^rawn fjy oxen and burdened with 


8 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


“garden truck and sich like”, slowly winding 
their way “to town”, were familiar scenes to the 
people living along the many country roads 
leading from the mountain fastnesses to Spartan- 
burg. Nor can it be denied that the “sich 
like” meant not infrequently the juice of the 
apple rather than the apple itself; for the sturdy 
mountaineer thought it not wrong to get his 
apples and corn over the hills with the least 

f 

expense possible. What if it did mean the kill- 
ing of a few revenue officers ?* If Uncle Sam got 
in the way of their support for wife and little 
ones, he must “go down”. 

A number of years prior to the Civil War, and 
for a decade after its close, Spartanburg boasted 
of one railroad, and Spartanburg was its northern 
terminus. That fact increased the importance 
of the little village, added to her dignity, and she 
became the shipping point for a considerable por- 
tion of upper South Carolina and not a little ter- 
ritory beyond the North Carolina line. So the 
wagon trains moved regularly, until Spartan- 
burg’s single railroad pushed its way to Ashg, 


HOW ZACH^CAMK TO COI,I,EGfe 


ville, and other roads came to emancipate the 
steer and make the ‘ ‘mountain schooner’ ’ a thing 
of the past. 

One warm, lazy June day in the early ’70’s, 
there stood in a store door in Spartanburg two 
men— one, the proprietor, Maj. John A. I^e, the 
other a young mountaineer. The mountain lad 
had on no coat, but stood six feet two inches in 
his rough brogan boots, into the tops of which 
were stuffed his blue jeans trousers, and tipped 
the scales at 240 pounds. The pure air that sur- 
rounded his mountain home, and the regular 
daily work on the little farm, had developed him 
into a perfect animal. A coal-black moustache 
adorned his upper lip, while a well-shaped nose, 
slightly acquiline, and a pair of laughing brown 
eyes made him a man who would attract atten- 
tion in any crowd. A single, knotted, twisted 
suspender wound its way across one of his shoul- 
ders and served the double purpose of holding 
up his trousers and affording a sling for one of 
his arms while he stood “at rest.’’ The panta- 
loons were innocent of buttons, but their places 


io 


HOW 2ach came to coeekgE 


were supplied by a rusty nail, and a thorn, the 
latter plucked from a thorn bush that stood by 
the road leading from his mountain home to the 
embryo city. 

This attractive specimen of physical manhood 
knew little of books, but had learned much in 
the school of experience. He knew the haunts 
and habits of the mountain deer “as the seaman 
knows the sea,” and to the raccoon and ’possum 
was a constant terror. And not a few of the 
hides of these animals, as well as the flesh of the 
deer, he sold in Spartanburg. He had watched 
men closely, had blushed because of many things 
that he knew to be wrong about him, and had 
dreamed of a higher life. 

It was a dull day with the merchants. Few 
countrymen were in towm, so our mountain lad 
and Maj. Tee talked leisurely of the weather, the 
change of the moon, and the prospects for a 
pinder crop. Our hero had great confidence in 
the big-hearted merchant, and no little admira- 
tion for the man that “knowed so much.” He 
had sold him his load of “truck,” and was just 


HOW ZACH CA.ME TO COI,I,EGfe II 

waiting for his steers to “eat a bite” before be- 
ginning his long journey homeward. 

Stroking his heavy boots with one end of his 
long whip handle, the young man raised his 
brown eyes till they met those of his friend, and 
then said, with some hesitation: 

“Major, vrhut’s that?” 

“That’s a bell, the College bell; they are hav- 
ing Commencement over there to-day,” replied 
the gentle, sympathetic merchant. 

“Whut is Commencement, Major, and whut is 
a college?” asked the lad, this time an expression 
ef intense interest spreading over his face. 

The kind-hearted business man consumed sev- 
eral minutes endeavoring to convey to the mind 
of the young man some idea of what a college is 
supposed to be and do, and of what is meant by 
the word commencement when used in this way, 
and then said: 

“I am going over to attend the exercises, 
won’t you go along with me?” 

‘‘Don’t keer if I do,’’ was the quick reply, and 
the mountaineer shambled off to his cart to get 


12 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


his coat with the apparent delight of one who has 
just received a new view of the possibilities of 
life. 

The coat, when the dust from the oxen’s fodder 
had been shaken from it, was donned, and the 
young man raked his chubby fingers through his 
somewhat disheveled locks, his heavy wool hat 
was pushed up in front, and he walked off with 
his friend, the words “college’’ and “commence- 
ment” ringing in his mind and heart as he 
struggled to get at their meaning — ringing almost 
as sweetly and encouragingly as the old college 
bell rang into his natural ears. The coat did not 
fit well — a little too tight it was, with the sleeves 
just a shade too short, but what cared the young 
man for that? It was spun and woven and made 
by the stiffened fingers of his widowed mother, 
one of God’s uncrowned queens, and it covered 
the back and the throbbing heart of a guileless 
man. 

After a walk of fifteen minutes, the two reached 
the College and were conducted by the ushers to 
comfortable seats where they could hear every 


HOW ZACH CAME TO C0EEE6E 

word spoken by the young men of the graduating 
class. 

Wofford College had on her gala- day attire. 
The floral decorations, arranged by the hands of 
gentle women, were a revelation to our moun- 
taineer. He had seen nature in all her loveliness 
among the crags and peaks and in the valleys of 
his mountain region. He loved the wild flowers 
with all his soul, and had plucked them often for 
his mother, but never before had he seen blossom 
and bud arrayed in such dazzling beauty. He 
had heard music, too, sweet music as it came 
from the fiddle and the bow and rivaled the mel- 
low laughter of the mountain lassie; he had “cut 
the pigeon wing,” despite his heft, at many a 
country frolic; but never before had he heard 
such entrancing music as that string band poured 
into his opening soul. 

The spacious auditorium was crowded with 
elegantly dressed women, wise men, and bubbling 
buoyant youth. The mountaineer was bewildered, 
but it was delicious bewilderment. He was in a 
trance. 


14 HOW ^ACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

But the exercises must begin. The dazed 
mountaineer watched with intense interest the 
long line of students file into the hall and the 
fifteen members of the Senior Class take their 
seats on the rostrum preparatory to delivering 
their graduating speeches. 

There were in that class some splendid speak- 
ers. They had the graces of the born orator. 

One of the number is to-day a distinguished 
lawyer in the city of New York. Our mountain- 
eer looked and listened with eyes and ears and 
mouth open. Not a word escaped him, though 
many he did not understand. He was moved' 
and swayed as never before in all his life. 

After one particularly patriotic address in 
which the young orator spoke of the “Tost Cause, 
the Blood of Southern Boys” and “The Graves 
of the Gallant Confederate Dead,” the band 
played Dixie, and the audience “went wild.” 

When the applause subsided, our mountaineer 
leaned over and whispered to his friend, the mer- 
chant: “Major, I’ll speak up thar one o’ these 
days.” 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO COI.tKGH 


15 


The Major was surprised, almost amazed at 
what he heard, but made some courteous reply, 
and the two turned their attention to the next 
speaker. 

The pleasant occasion came to a close. The 
valedictorian of the class “had his say.’-^ He 
talked to his classmates of the pleasant years 
spent together, of the hard-fought battles, of the 
victories and defeats, then wished them “a 
pleasant and successful voyage over life’s tempes- 
tuous sea,’’ and bade them a “long farewell.” 
The diplomas were distributed after the orthodox 
fashion, the President’s few parting words being 
delivered in Tatin, and the commencement was 
over. 

The students repaired to their homes and 
boarding houses — the mountaineer to his cart. 
On the walk from the college, he spoke but few 
words. He was thoughtful. That day, a pur- 
pose was born in him. He is another man. 


CHAPTER ii. 


Oastii^y yoking his steers, the mountaineer 
^ flung into the cart the few articles purchased 
in the morning, and turned his face homeward. 
The purchased articles were few — just a little 
sugar and coffee and a calico dress for his mother, 
the queen of his mountain home. That was a 
warm afternoon, the road was a long and dusty 
one, and the faithful oxen labored hard though 
they drew but little more than the weight of their 
patient master. Old Towser, the trusty watch- 
dog and constant companion of his master, trotted 
lazily under the bed of the cart, sometimes on 
the shady side. His tongue was hanging out 
and he panted fearfully. The master munched 
his lunch, a bit of bread and a part of a squirrel 
his mother had prepared for him. He ate, not 
because he was hungry, but from force of habit 
and to attest his appreciation of his mother’s 
never-failing thoughtfulness of his comfort. The 


HOW ZACH GAME TO COI,I,^GH 


17 


mountaineer was living over the experiences of 
the forenoon. The cattle had their own way. 

After the sun had set and while the song of 
the whip-poor-will was echoing and re-echoing 
among the hills, they came to one of those beau- 
tiful streams that wind their way across upper 
Carolina, and man and beast satisfied their 
thirst, the mountaineer using his unlined wool 
hat as a dipper. 

The mountaineer was accustomed to talking to 
his steers and his dog, and, no doubt, if these 
dumb brutes could have spoken, they would have 
expressed surprise at this strange, long silence 
of their master. The lapping of the dog, the 
evident pleasure experienced by the thirsty steers, 
as well as the quenching of his own thirst, re- 
minded him of the fact that he had neglected to 
give the animals water before leaving Spartan- 
burg, and immediately loosened his tongue. 

“Towser, old fellow,” said he, “that’s right, 
lap it up, hit will do you good. You shell hev a 
good supper, too, as soon as we git home, a real 
good supper to make you strong. The warmints 


l8 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

must be kept outen the corn — they mustn’t have 
a grain of it. I shell need it all. I’m gwine to 
college, Towser; won’t you find the raccoon and 
the squir’l fur me, and can’t we git a few minks, 
and a bear or two?” 

The ears and face of the brave old cur bore 
many evidences of deadly conflicts with the rac- 
coon; and though he could not speak, he whined 
and barked his joyful assent to all that was pro- 
posed, and fairly churned the water in his efforts 
to kiss his master’s hand. It was the only 
language the dog could command, but the master 
understood it. 

Then he turned his attention to the steers, 
now quietly listening to all that had been said, 
and affectionately told them of his purpose. 

How long they stood talking in the stream 
they knew not, but the hooting of an owl just 
over the hill broke the spell, and the mountain- 
eer began talking to his cattle in the language of 
the whipthong, a language full of meaning and 
music when the long whip is handled by a mas- 
ter of the art. As there is music for the trained 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COI,I,EGK 


19 


hunter in the “mouthings” of his pack, so is 
there concord of sweet sounds for the expert 
driver in the regulated cracking of his whip. 

The mountaineer noticed now for the first time 
that they were still many miles from home and 
that it would be late, very late, before they could 
reach the end of their journey; nevertheless, the 
lash was not allowed to touch the backs of the 
steers one time, for they were tired and hungry, 
and their master was their friend. The song of 
the whipthong, however, quickened their pace 
somewhat, and they were now off, in dead ear- 
nest, on “the home stretch.” 

Towser, chilled by the cooling stream in 
which he had rested, leaped for joy, and barked 
his delight until the provoking echo of his own 
musical voice arrested his attention, and he 
ended the performance with an ominous growl. 
The master heard the echo, too, and thus solilo- 
quized : 

“I wonder whut that means and how it is. 
They call it echo — whut is echo? I don’t know, 
p^n they tell me at college? Never mind. 


20 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COI,EEGE 


Towser, I shell find out and tell you whut it 
is.” 

Mile after mile was covered by the steady 
team, the master, meantime, lapsing into his 
thoughtful mood, after laughing at the antics of 
the spiteful little screech-owls that brushed the 
crown of his wool hat with the tips of their wings 
and viciously snapped their beaks just above 
his head. 

The stars were out now in all their beauty and 
grandeur. Occasionally a meteor darted across 
the heavens, and the mountaineer said to himself 
and to his dumb friends: “Now what do that 
mean? They say it’s a failin’ star. Do the star 
fall? My Bible tells me the mornin’ stars sing 
together — does they really sing? I can't hear 
the music, but I b’lieve they do. I know they 
dance, and I sometimes think I can see ’em 
weepin’. Mebbe they do weep. Mebbe they 
weeps over the sins of human critters. God 
knows — I don’t,” 

Crossing a narrow valley now, on either side 
of which the hills seemed to rise one above 


HOW ZACH CAMU TO COTIvEGIJ 


21 


another till they met the stars and rolled them in 
their laps, the joy of this uncultured son of the 
mountains knew no bounds, and he gave vent to 
his feelings by uttering a long repeated yell that 
reverberated among the hills until it seemed to 
shake their very foundations. Then taking up 
his whip, he said: “Now, Susie, old gal, sing us 
a song. See the hills and the stars and'the val- 
ley; now, talk it out, old gal, talk it out, good 
and strong. ’ ’ 

Standing on tip-toe in the wagon, the moun- 
taineer twirled the long whipthong above his 
head with such strength and such regularity of 
movement that the metric cracking of the deer 
skin seemed to provoke the whole mountain 
region to a fit of ceaseless laughter. Then he 
laughed a good natured, jolly laugh that died 
away down the valley in a whisper; and, patting 
the long whip handle with his left hand, he said 
tenderly: “Well done, Susie, well done, that’s 
the way to talk it out; I know your language; it 
is music to my soul — it is the song of my deer 
skin.” 


CHAPTER III. 


\ FEW hundred yards farther old Towser 
pricked up his ears, and, with a sharp bark, 
bounded away to investigate a noise he heard 
ahead. 

“Be keerful, Towser, be keerful, sir; you know 
your failin’; come back now to your place and 
keep cool.’'' 

Like his master, old Towser was game from 
tip to tip; each feared neither man nor devil — ■ 
each recognized but one master. But Towser 
was obedient, and, taking his place immediately 
in front of the steers, he stiffened every joint in 
his body and uttered an ominous growl that 
meant fight, and fight to the death, for the right 
of way. 

After a few minutes old Towser scented old 
Jack, one of the few negroes living among the 
mountains, and changed his growl to a whine of 
recognition. 

Hello, M^rse ^ach, dat you?” 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COIyTEGH 


23 


“Hello, Uncle Jack, whut you doin’ out here 
this time o’ night?” 

“Sho nuff, dat’s you; I know^ed 'twus you. I 
heeard Susie’s voice; the Uawd bless yo’ soul, 
mun, you oughter bin whar I wus to hear her 
speak. She farly tar round dar ’mong de rocks 
and hills, and I think I could jess see you smile 
while you standin’ dar in the wagin tryin’ to 
hole ’er down and mek ’er regilate ’er voice. Dat 
I did, suh; I could jess see you. Yes, suh, 
Susie sing a song right tonight. An’ ole Bill, 
my ole hoss here, ole fool, he git skeerdt, an’ 
mek lak he gwine left me dar een de road, but I 
fetch him a whack ’cross de hade wid dis stick 
and fotch him to he senses. But I knowd ’twus 
you, an’ ole Towser, dar, he might know^ed 
’twus me a-comin’, fur it look lak any dog whut 
kin smell a ’cooii good es ole Towser kin, 
oughter smell a nigger clean ’cross the mount- 
ing.” 

The mountaineer w’as not displeased that the 
old man liked the song of the whiptliong, but 
noticed that he had not aii3wered his questiop^ 


24 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COIXKGE 


So he repeated, “But whut you out so late fur 
tonight, Uncle Jack? And whut’s dat you got 
thar in your cornsack? I think that’s a jug.’’ 

“O, go ’long, Marse Zach; don’t bodder ’bout 
whar ole nigger gwine. Don’t you know I ’spec- 
table darkey?’’ 

“Yes, Uncle Jack, I know you is lacked by 
the white folks, but le’ me gi’ you a piece o’ my 
jaw; you quit totin’ whiskey fur dese fellers. 
They’ll git you into trouble. The fust news 
you know dese revenue officers will hev you in 
jail.’’ 

“Das so, Marse Zach, das so an’ I promise 
you I gwine quit it rite now. Dat I do.’’ 

Jack was a good old ante-bellum darkey that 
everybody liked, but he had one great weakness: 
he loved whiskey. But, like many white men, he 
would promise reformation anywhere and at any 
time. 

“Marse Zach, I mighty glad I meet you to- 
night. I jes’ fixin’ to go over ter yo^ house to- 
morro’ to tell you ’bout it.” 

“ ’Bout whut. Uncle Jack?” 


HOW^ZACH CAMH to 


25 


’Bout datbee tree I fine yistidd5^ Yas, siih, 
down dar not fur fum de Gum Spring on de lower 
eend uv yo’ ma’s plantation, I find a bee tree- 
De big popular dar, sub ; you know wliar ’tis. An’ 
I was jis-^ cornin’ over tomorro’ ter tell you ’bout 
it an’ ax you let mehe’p cut it dovvm an’ gi’ me 
leetle o'’ de honey fur Dinah an’ de chillun. ” 

“Why Uncle Jack, I am mighty glad to hear 
dat. Is you sho’ it’s a bee tree? An’ does you 
think dere’s much honey een it?” 

“Sho, suh, sho; an’ I’ll bet ole Bill gin Towser 
dar’s fifteen gallons honey in it.” 

“Well, we’ll not bet ’bout it, but I hope you 
air right. It will be a great he’p to me. You 
see, Uncle Jack, I’ve got to make uver cent I kin 
this summer; I mean to go off to college nex’ 
October an’ git a edication, an’ dat honey will 
sell powerful well in Spartanburg. 

“An’, Marse Zach, whut is edication, an’ whut 
you gwine do wid it when you git it?” 


26 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


“To git a edication, Uncle Jack, means tolarn 
somethin’, an’ git wise an’ useful an’ able to do 
somethin’.’’ 

“Bless my life, Marse Zach, you de wisest an’ 
de ablist white man in dese mountings now, ’ca’se 
I hear a mighty putty little gal say so yistiddy. 
She say you de bes’ lookin’ man in North Caliny, 
and can trow down an’ lick anything whut walks 
on two foots. I don’t see whut you gwine do 
wid dat thing you call edication when you git 
it.” 

The smile that had wreathed the face of the 
mountaineer quickly gave place to a frown. For 
the first time since the birth of his purpose, the 
thought, “What will Katie say of my plan?” 
rushed through his brain and for an instant took 
his breath. As soon as he could get control of 
himself he said, with some deliberation: 

“Well, come over tomorrow at 8 o’clock, Uncle 
Jack, and we’ll cut the bee tree. Good night.’’ 

“Good night, Marse Zack, you’ll hev ter mek 
Susie sing anudder song, ef dem steer git you 
home ’fo’ de chicken crow.’’ 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COI^I^EGE 


27 


Susie sang only a note or two, but they were 
full of meaning, and the now rested oxen bounded 
forward with alacrity. The mountaineer put Su- 
sie in her place and said with a deep, long-drawn 
sigh: “And what will Katie say?” 


A 



\ 


CHAPTER IV. 

‘‘These two things, contradictory as they 
may seem, must go together, — manly depen- 
dence and manly independence, manly reli- 
ance and manly self-reliance.” 

— Wordsworth. 


TT was long after midnight before the tired 
'*■ steers halted under a shed in the yard of the 
humble mountain home. The driver patted their ' 
throbbing flanks and spoke kind, appreciative 
words to them, for he valued the services and 
respected the feelings of his faithful, dumb ser- 
vants as only a man of heart can do. Having 
watered and fed the steers, the mountaineer went 
into the house and was met at the door by his ^ 
devoted mother who had not closed her eyes, but 
had watched and waited through all the long 
hours for the home-coming of her son. 

“Come in, my son, come in, you be late to- 
night; I am so glad to see you,” said his mother 
in a gentle, sweet voice. 

“Thank you, mother,” said the mountaineer. 


kOW ZACH CAME TO ‘cOtEEGE 


29 


tenderly kissing the woman who had given so 
much of her life for his own comfort and happi- 
ness. “You haint bin skeerdt, is you, mother?’’ 

“No, no; I wusn’t skeerdt, — but I couldn’t 
he’p feelin’ a leetle oneasy ’bout ye.’’ 

“Why, mother, nobody in dese mountings 
would hurt me.’’ 

‘‘No brave man would, my son, but you know 
thar is so menny mean people on de yearth. The 
folks knows that you don’t favor mekin’ and sell- 
in’ liquor, and I jist got to thinkin’ that mebbe 
some of ’em mought like to have you outen the 
way. I couldn’t sleep till I seed you safe and 
sound at home. But you must eat your supper, — 
I know you is monstous tired. I tried to keep 
your supper warm by pushin’ the chunks to- 
gether. The coffee is good and warm, but I’m 
afeard the bread is cold.’’ 

“Thank you, mother; I aint hongry, but I’ll 
eat jest fur your sake, — you is so good an’ kind 
to keep my supper warm fur me.’’ 

“Did you feed the critters, son?’’ the thought- 
ful mother asked. 


30 


HOW ZACn CAME TO COLLEGE 


“Yes, mother, the steers is watered and fed.*' 
“Now then draw up a cheer and eat a bite 
yourself and then go to bed, fur it’s almost time 
to git up and then you hain’t had a wink o^sleep. ’ ’ 
The obedient son threw himself into a chair 
which he dragged to the side of a little table and 
devoutly gave thanks to God for all his blessings. 
The mother took a seat directly in front of her 
son, placed her elbows on the table, rested her 
chin in her hands and lovingly looked into the 
face of her boy who ate with a “cornin’ appetite.” 

“I want you to try some of this fresh honey, 
Zachie, with that bit o’ meat. I think you’ll find 
it nice; I robbed a gum today and got a fine 
chance and accordin’ to my taste hit is a fine 
quality too; hit ought to bring a good price in 
town, did you ax whut honey is fetchin’, son?’’ 

By this time the mountaineer had tasted the 
honey and, smacking his lips, said: “It is cer- 
tainly fine, mother, and will fetch the top o’ the 
market. But I furgit to ax the price; this is 
been a big day fur me, an’ I furgit sev’al things 
that I ’spected to ’tend to.’’ 


now ZACit CAME TO COEEEGE 3l 

Here the son, knowing that he had before 
him one who could sympathize with him, though 
she might not understand or appreciate fully his 
plans, opened his mouth and heart, and told her 
all he had seen and much of what he had heard, 
and then said: “Mother, I want to go to college, 
and ef God will gi’ me health, and you will he’p 
me, I will go, and I’ll promise you tomek a man 
that you will be proud of. Will you he''p me, 
mother?” 

The gentle little woman, whose heart throbbed 
always in unison with that of her stalwart son, 
brushed a tear from each eye with the corner of 
her homespun apron, ^ and said in a calm, clear 
voice: “God knows I’m proud of you already 
my son; you has always been a joy to your wid- 
owed mother, and you kin nuver do ennything 
to mek me love you better’n I do now; but your 
happiness is my happiness and your plans is my 
plans. When the Lord tuck yo’ brave father, I 
promised Him that ef he would spar you to me I 
would do my best to bring you up in His fear. 
He has answered my prayers and you hev not 


32 


HOW ZACH GAME COr^I,KGE 


disapp’inted me. These ban’s has worked hard 
fur ye, my son. They tremble sometimes now, 
but I kin do a good deal yit, and you shell hev 
the best that I kin do to he’p you carry out your 
plans. ’ ’ 

The big-hearted mountaineer was now stand- 
ing by the side of his mother, and, taking her 
tenderly in his arms, he said, with a choking 
voice: “Thank you, precious mother, I want to 
Tarn somethin’ fur your sake.” 

It was now late, or early, and time that both 
were sleeping, but the new purpose born the 
day before, and now become the purpose of both 
promised such a radical change in the plans of 
both lives that sleep was banished from their 
eyes. 

Tong and lovingly talked mother and son. 
The mother’s whole mind was now bent on 
devising ways and means for getting her son’ off 
to college. 

“Whut time does you hev afore the college 
begins again, son?’’ asked the mother thought- 
fully. 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COECEGE 


33 


“I will have to leave home the fust of October, 
mother.” 

“Three months and a leetle better,” said the 
mother, more to herself than her son. 

“We kin do a great deal in that time, Zachie. 
There is plenty of grass now, and the cows is 
doin’ well. Old Spec will be givin’ milk in eight 
or ten days, and her milk is very rich. We’ll 
deny ourselves and sell all the butter. Then the 
bees is doin’ well, we’ll sell lots o’ honey. And 
I’ll mek the chickens and eggs fetch us more 
money. I have twenty young turkeys now, and 
I foufld another turkey nest this mornin’ wdth 
thirteen eggs in it. I’ll do the best I kin with 
all these and kyard and spin and weave the w^ool. 
You kin go to town every two weeks and turn 
somethin’ into mone3^” 

“Yes, mother, I know you wdll do much more’n 
yo’ part. But, mother, it hurts me to hear you 
talk ’bout denyin-’ yourself enny thing.” 

“My dear son, is it not a pleasure for me to 
deny myself ennything for you? Did I not deny 
myself many a night’s sleep when I nursed you 


34 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


through that awful spell o’ scarlet fever? And 
hev not yo’ love paid me fur all my trouble ten 
thousand times over?” 

Then with a husky voice the mountaineer said: 
“God bless you, mother; with you on my side I 
kin do anything.” 

“Zachie, my son, do you hear that rooster? 
It is ’most da}" — do go to bed and git some sleep. 
You can’t work bethout sleep.” 

“Fur yo’ sake, mother, I’ll go. I am not 
sleepy, but I’ll go to bed, so that 3"OU ma}^ lie 
down and git some rest. Good-night.” 

Zach walked into his little room and, throw- 
ing himself upon his knees, he reverently 
thanked God for his loving, sympathetic mother; 
begged him to spare her life many years, to spare 
his own life, and give him health and strength 
to carry out his plans for improving his mind, 
and promised in return a life of faithful service. 

Then, jumping into bed, he slept the sleep of 
the innocent. 


CHAPTER V. 


'pHE: sun was peeping in through the crack 
^ under the door that morning long before 
Zach’s eyes opened to the light. How long he 
might have slept is not known, but “Uncle Jack” 
was true to his promise and came at the appointed 
hour to cut the bee tree. Old Towser “winded” 
the African, 3'elped a note of warning and 
aroused his master from his slumbers. Zach was 
soon bathing his face in the cool, clear water 
that flowed out from the mountain not many feet 
from the back door of the little house, and felt 
ashamed that he had slept so late while his 
mother was up preparing his breakfast for him. 

The two sat down to breakfast and, while eat- 
ing, again discussed their plans for the summer. 
The son told his mother of old Jack’s find near 
the Gum Spring, and of his promise to give the 
old negro some of the honey for his assistance in 
cutting the tree. The mother had known bee 
trees to be foun^ goutainiug many gallons of 


36 


HOW ZACH CAMI? TO COI^IvEGE 


honey, and expressed the hope that old Jack’s 
find might be a genuine bee tree and contain an 
abundance of honey and the honeycomb. “Your 
success or failure this mornin’,” she said, “may 
be a sign of good or bad luck in your summer’s 
work. But Zachie, my son, what will Katie 
say?” 

“I hev thought of that, mother; I hev thought 
of all that. Katie is a sensible gab and will not 
stand in the way of my plans.” 

Old Jack waited as patiently as possible for 
the mountaineer to finish his breakfast, but 
stimulated by Dinah’s joyful anticipations, was 
anxious to try the temper of his keen-bladed axe 
on the big bee tree. After a ten-minutes’ walk 
the two stood at the roots of the large poplar 
not far from the big Gum Spring. The trained 
eye of the mountaineer saw at a glance that it 
was the home of a colony of bees, and, in all 
probability, contained many gallons of honey. 

It was an unusually large tree. “My Tawd,” 
said Uncle Jack, “Marse Zach, dat tree must be 
five foot tru de butt-cut.” 



‘ ‘MY IvAWD, AIARSE ZACH, COMK, HE’P ME FIGHT DESE BEES!” 










f 


A 


> 






■* 



i 

V 


r 


I 


^ •! 


A 


» 


* 





ft. 


t . 




• * 


* 



• . 



t 


HOW ZACH CAME} TO COI^TEGE 


37 


“I think not, quite, Uncle Jack,” said his 
friend, “but it mought be four foot.” 

“Waal, howsomever, you’ll arn de salt in yo’ 
dinner ’fo’ we git it cut down.’’ 

Towser and Zeno had been brought along and 
the mountaineer’s old-fashioned flint-and-steel 
rifle. Every squirrel skin would go a little way 
toward swelling the fund necessary to defray 
Zach’s expenses at college. 

Spitting on their hands after the manner of 
the woodsman, the two fell to work on the tree, 
and for several minutes the large chips flew 
thick and fast. Stopping to “get their wind,’’ 
old Jack said: “Marse Zach, s’ posin’ der be a 
coon in dis tree. De bees is way up yonder, and 
I see a hole up dar ’bout thirty foot whut look 
powerful slick lak some warmint bin crawlin’ 
een and out.” 

“I hope we shell find a coon or some squir’ls 
ill thar. Uncle Jack. I hev had sich luck in my 
time.” 

“Me, too; and I notice old Towser mighty 
busy out dar smellin’ ’bout dem logs — I b’lieve 


38 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


coon bin long dar since the chicken crow dis 
mornin’/’ 

“Whar is Zeno? His nose is colder than Tow- 
ser’s,” said the mountaineer, “and ef a coon’s 
been along here since 4 o’clock, old Zeno will 
tell you ’bout it.” 

The words were scarcely spoken before old 
Zeno, known as the “strike dog,” “gave mouth’’ 
just over the ridge. 

“Dar now! Whut I tell you? Talk to him, 
old boy! Tell him ’bout it! When old Brer 
Coon put he foot on de groun’ ol’ Zeno sho to 
pass de time a day wid him,’’ ejaculated old 
Jack, as much delighted as if he had found a 
new, crisp ten-dollar bill. At the first note from 
Zeno old ToWvSer, with bristles up, bounded across 
the ridge to join him. 

“Dat mought be a squir’l old Zeno smell,” the 
mountaineer said. 

“No, suh, narry squir’l; didn’t you see old 
Towser’s bristles and hear him whine? No, suh; 
dat old pup spilin’ fur a fight. Dogs know each 
udder’s words jess same ez me an’ you. When 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


39 


old Zeno smack he lips and say ‘coon bin here,’ 
Towser know jess de same lak you know when I 
tell you dis a bee tree. Yes, suh, dat a coon, 
an’ you give old Zeno time and he’ll show yon 
whar dat old coon sleepin’ now.” 

The old darkey was right. The trail was a 
cold one and it was some ten minutes before 
Towser could “give mouth” at all, but the old 
fellow kept up a continual whining because of 
his confidence in the accuracy of the statements 
made by his companion. 

“That’s a cold trail, Uncle Jack; let’s go on 
with the cuttin’ and let the dogs cipher it out ef 
they kin,” said the mountaineer. 

“Dat’s so,” responded the old man, biting off 
a big quid from a twist of home-raised tobacco > 
“dat’s a cole trail, but old Zeno will sho spile de 
res’ uv dat ole coon dis mornin’.” 

With an occasional whoop of encouragement, 
the dogs were left to solve their own problem, 
while the two men plied their axes with renewed 
vigor, the old negro making with each stroke of 
his glittering blade that peculiar gutteral noise so 


40 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


common among regular wood choppers while 
running a race. 

After crawling over and under fences, walking 
many logs, paddling up and down the branch 
and crossing and recrossing the ridge a half 
score of times, old Towser, warming up for the 
fight and uttering faster and faster that abrupt, 
quick yelp characteristic of the experienced coon 
dog, the faithful canines wound up at the roots 
of the big poplar on which the men w^ere cutting. 

The old man’s joy knew no bounds, for the 
anticipations of delicious wdld honey were aug- 
mented by the thought of roasted coon-meat. 
Indeed the w’hite man and the black man drove 
their axes into the poplar with a will, this prom- 
ise of a double reward greatly stimulating their 
efforts. 

The tree fell at last. When it did, not one, 
but two coons ran out, to the infinite delight of 
both men and dogs. Each dog tackled a coon. 
Old Towser, in his effort to get at his, ran 
through the bees, now pouring out of the log in 
great numbers, The old veteran had fought 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COI,I.EGH 


41 


many bloody battles, but never before bad he 
tackled coon and bees at the same time. He 
whined piteously, but never for once did he 
loosen his grip till he heard the cracking of the 
coon’s breast bones and felt the ominous quiver- 
ing of his muscles. The old negro saw the pre- 
dicament of the notorious coon fighter and ran 
to his assistance. To his amazement the bees, 
with one accord, left the dog and literally covered 
him. For a while the old man got young again. 
He was “the combination of the mule and billy 
goat — he kicked with one end and butted with 
the other.” “My Tawd, Marse Zach,” he 
screamed, “come he’p me fight dese bees! 
Gemimy, Moses and Dinah, dey’s killin’ me! 
For Gawd’s sake, Marse Zach, he’p me git m5^ 
do es off, der’s ten thousand in my britches.” 
The old fellow had by this time rid himself of his 
tattered shirt and was vainly tugging at his 
pantaloons and rolling over on the ground. 

“Run to the branch, you old fool!’’ cried the 
mountaineer. “Git in the water!” 

Jack lost no time in getting to the stream and 


42 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COTI,IC(i^ 


buried bitnself in the water. The two men had 
neglected to take precautionary measures against 
the possible attack of the bees, and the old 
darkey was now paying the penalty of their 
thoughtlessness. 

“Marse Zach,” he said, as soon as he could 
speak, “how de name er Gawd kin sich things 
ez dem mek honey? ''Fo’ Gawd, dey kin sting 
wid one eend an’ bite wid t’other. My eyes is 
swellin’, Marse Zach, an’ yer some de leetle 
devils stickin’ een my liar yit.” 

The good-natured mountaineer, seeing the 
dogs had dispatched both coons, had withdrawn 
a safe distance from the buzzing bees, and, con- 
vulsed with laughter, was rolling on the ground. 

The cutting of the bee tree proved to be a 
profitable enterprise. The skins of the coons 
would be ready for market as soon as they could 
be dried, and the tree was packed with the finest 
kind of honey. Old Jack was given the flesh of 
the two coons, together with the honey he was 
promised for his assistance. 

“Dinah an’ de chillun will grin over dis 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO COLI^EGH 


43 


honey,’* said Jack, “but es fur me. I’ll tek de 
coon meat; I got nuff dem bees. Bless Gawd, 
my head big ez a bar’l now, and wun my eye 
dun clean shot. I don’t want no more honey. 
Good-bye, Marse Zach; guess nex’ time old 
Towser fight coon an’ bees togedder he kin fight 
it out hisself, — dis chile gwiiie tudder way.’’ 

The mountaineer and his mother were well 
pleased with the success of the morning. The 
coon pelts w’ere nailed to the barn door in the 
place of two others that were dried sufficiently 
for market. That night a careful and accurate 
inventory was made of their available, market- 
able assets, and another trip to Spartanburg ar- 
ranged for the following Monday morning. 


CtlAPTER VI. 

‘‘See first that the design is wise and just; 

That ascertained, pursue it resolutely. 

Do not for one repulse forego the purpose 
That you resolved to effect.” 

S ATURDAY AFTERNOON found Zach at the home 
of Joe Langford just a mile and a half from 
his own. Katie must know of his new purpose 
and the sooner the better, so he determined to 
inform her at once. 

It had been a busy day with Katie. Every- 
thing was prepared now for the Sabbath, and 
she had just finished milking when the moun- 
taineer walked into the yard. The two seated 
themselves under a large elm tree that stood not 
far from the door of the cottage, and Zach 
thought the rosy-cheeked girl of seventeen never 
looked sweeter in all her life. The mountain 
lassie did not conceal her pleasure at the presence 
of her lover, and talked with her accustomed ease 
and fluency; and when Zach beheld her in all 
her loveliness, and thought of losing her after 


sow ZACS CAMS COtlvSGS 


45 


all, his heart sank within him. A weaker man 
would have abandoned his purpose then and 
there, and set about completing the arrange- 
ments for wedding Katie the following Novem- 
ber. But Zach was made of sterner stuff; wdth 
him the die was cast, and Zach was a man. 

Taking his sweetheart’s hand in his, he said 
in an awkward, stumbling way: “Katie, I loves 
you powerful, an’ God knows you is the fust an’ 
onliest gal I uver did love. I got sumpin to say 
to you an’ sumpin to ax you, but I want you to 
think ’bout it good afore you answer me.’’ 

“Zachie,” said the half-frightened girl, “whut 
is the matter wid you? Your ban’s is tremlin’ 
and I never seed you look so tarrified, — whut is 
the matter?” 

Then the poor fellow told her of all that he 
had seen and heard on his recent visit to Spartan- 
burg, and told her of his purpose to have a 
diploma himself. 

By this time he had gotten full control of him- 
self, and lifting the white fingers to his lips he 
said in his gentlest tones: 


46 HOW ZACH CAME 1^0 COEEEGK 

“Katie, will you wait on me till I git my edi- 
cation? Don’t answer me now, but think ’bout 
it, an’ answer me nex’ week.” 

The face of the lovely girl, this simple-hearted 
child of nature, was clouded for a few seconds, 
and she said with a noticeable tremor in her 
voice: “But, Zachie, hit will tek you so long. 
We can git ’long bethout all that expense an’ 
trouble. Ma told me jist to-day that she would 
gi’ me Old Brindle an’ her calf an’ a new feather 
bed, an’ I already has six blankets and fourteen 
quilts. We-uns kin git along.” And Katie 
brushed a tear away that danced upon her long 
lashes in spite of the fact that she bit her lips in 
her efforts to keep it back. 

“O yes; we could git along, but I wants more 
than jes to git along. I wants to larn sumpin 
and be sumpin and do sumpin. I don’t know 
how^ long it will tek me to git a edication. Hi 
mought tek me five year; mebbe seven. But did 
not Jacob work seven long year fur his wife, an’ 
Can’t I ’ford to work, not lak a sarvant, but lak 
a free man — can’t I ’ford to labour an’ study 


HOW ZACS CAMS to COIvI/SGS 47 

hard fur seven long year to larn sumpin an’ mek 
myse’f worthy of sich a gal as 5^ou is?” 

“Then you’ll be a great man an’ marry some 
rich city gal, — you will not look at Katie then,’'’ 
sobbed the innocent girl burying her face in her 
hands. 

The mountaineer had grappled with the 
wounded bear in a death struggle and had licked 
a ruffian “out of his boots’’ for cursing him be- 
cause of his opposition to “moonshining,’’ but 
never before had he received such a shock as 
this. He was staggered by a sense of his utter 
helplessness. Trained in the school of experi- 
ence to meet every emergency, however, he 
failed not in this. Raising the drooping head of 
the girl he loved, he looked into her tear-dimmed 
eyes and said: 

“Katie, that hurts me. Don’t do that. You 
doiTt understand me. I kin fetch you books an’ 
you kin larn a powerful heap by readin’ an’ 
studyin’ ’em. You know more than I does now. 
You have read several books an’ I know you laks 
to read. I hain’t read nothin’ but my Bible.” 


48 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


That was a happy stroke. The girl brushed 
the tears from her face and smiled a sweet smile 
into the eyes of her distressed lover. By some 
chance a copy of Tongfellow’s poems and one of 
Hawthorne’s Grandfather’s Chair had fallen into 
her hands and she had read and re-read them 
until she was recognized as “the smartest gal in 
the mountings.” 

It was the thought of getting other books and 
of becoming educated herself that dried Katie’s 
tears and reinstated the beautiful dimples in her 
cheeks. Raising both her hands as if about to 
pat his two fat cheeks, she said, in tones that 
thrilled her heart-sick lover: 

“Zachie, do forgive me; I am so foolish. I 
know that you love me and that it is all for the 
best. I am only seventeen, and you will bring 
me books and I shell see you every summer and 
every Christmas; of course I will wait on you ef 
it takes you ten year stiddier seven.’’ What 
happened then? Well, just let that be Katie and 
Zachie’ s secret. The stars were shining now 
and winked at one another significantly. 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


49 


The mountaineer Vv^as supremely happy when 
he told his mother that night of Katie’s approval 
of his plans. The next day at meetin’ he “heisted 
the hymes” and sang as he had never sung be- 
fore. 

Zach’s next trip to Spartanburg was a success- 
ful one. He had no difficulty in disposing of his 
“garden truck,’’ honey and skins, and got fair 
prices for all. Indeed, Providence seemed to 
smile on the mountaineer’s efforts during the 
entire summer. Many trips were made “to 
town,’’ and never one without adding something 
to his small amount of cash. His mother v/as 
particularly successful with her dairy and poul- 
try yard, and the mountaineer rejoiced that his 
hogs were entirely free from cholera and his 
sheep seldom disturbed by the hungry fox. Be- 
sides, his long rifle added not a few dimes to his 
exchequer, while Towser and Zeno did their full 
^hare. 


CHAPTER VII. 


HEN the old college bell announced the open- 



^ ^ ing of another session on the ist of October, 
the mountaineer was there ready for busine.ss. 
He wore a bright new suit of blue jeans and a 
pair of heavy boots, rough but clean. So tall, 
so large, so muscular, he looked a giant among 
the boys and young men there assembled. In- 
deed, his presence would have been hailed with 
delight if the game of football as now played had 
been known. 

“The big fellow’'^ was examined and assigned 
to the preparatory department. He asked no 
favors, but his quiet, unostentatious, and earn- 
est manner impressed faculty and students that 
he came for business and meant to win. He 
hired one of the large rooms on the lower floor 
of the college building, installed a very small 
cooking stove, and in that room he lived, doing 
his own cooking and washing. 

A few of the more fortunate students were 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEIvEGE 


51 


disposed, at first, to laugh at the idea of such an 
undertaking, but it was not long until the “big 
fellow in blue jeans” had the respect of the en- 
tire student body. 

Unused to study, the mountaineer found his 
work very difficult and his environment very 
trying. He missed the fresh mountain air and 
the freedom of his untrammelled mountain life. 
For the first few weeks, there were times that 
sorely tried his manhood. Once or twice he was 
on the verge of Wishing that he w-ere back again 
by Katie’s side and forever done with books and 
slates and college bells. But Zach was a man, 
and a man wjth a purpose, not a boy drifting 
with the tide. So, clinching his heavy, fist, he 
brought it dowm on his little table with such 
force as almost crushed it, and said: “I am no 
genius, but I’m no fool; other men have learned 
these lessons and I can do it, too.’’ And he did. 

The weeks passed rapidly by, and the moun- 
taineer found himvSelf fond of his w^ork and in 
love with his teachers and associates. His genial 
disposition and the honest earnestness of the man 


52 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


drew others to him; and though he did not ask 
it, several of the best men in his class volun- 
teered to assist him until he could ‘ ‘get on his 
feet.” 

The mountaineer’s first year at college seemed 
to him very short as indeed is always the case 
with the earnest, faithful student who means to 
waste no time. But he was glad to get home 
again to press to his bosom his devoted mother 
and faithful ally, to romp with Towser and 
Zeno, and to look into the loving eyes of Katie, 
his black-eyed lassie. 

The summer was spent very largely as was 
the previous one except that the mountaineer 
taught the public school for thirty days. In this 
he was eminently successful, winning the confi- 
dence of his pupils and, through them, the re- 
spect and admiration of their parents. 

Many of his neighbors, particularly the young 
men and maidens of the neighborhood, believed 
that when Zach returned from college he would 
be “bigitty and stuck up beca’se he’s got some 
larnin.’’ They were disappointed, and when. 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGB 


53 


on the first Sabbath after his return, he walked 
up to a group standing in front of the church and 
said: “Why, hello, fellers, I am so glad to see 
you all again, — how do you all do?” their sus- 
picions were thrown to the winds. He put his 
arm around the neck of one and said, “Bill, old 
fellow, how are you? You look just as natural 
as cornbread. Say Bill, how’s your gal, is she 
as pretty as ever?” 

Then Jim Snooks nudged Bob Satterwhite, 
and said, “By gosh. Bob, he ain’t a bit biggity; 
dowled if he ain’t the same old Zach.” 

Uncle Jack who now lived in the cabin on the 
hill near the Gum Spring, had “pitched the 
crop’’ and had managed it well, at the same time 
looking after the hogs and sheep and giving 
Towser and Zeno an occasional run over the hills 
after the coons that were bold enough to make 
depredations on his “roasting ears.” Zach helped 
him to “lay by” the cropj before he turned 
school-master. 

To him this was a delightful summer, though 
he spent not an idle day. Many an evening he 


54 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


Spent with Katie, looking into the depths of her 
beautiful eyes and listening to her talk of the 
books he had sent and brought her. 

But Zach was ready to return to college when 
the time came. The little taste he had had, the 
sip at the fountain of knowledge had developed 
and strengthened his determination to drink long 
and well. It was during this second year a little 
incident occurred that made the mountaineer the 
hero among the college boys. 

Our reader wdll remember that this was during 
the “reconstruction period.” Federal troops 
were garrisoned in almost every city and town 
in our state. The very presence of the blue- 
coats made the negroes impudent and insulting 
to an extent which our Northern friends have 
never been, able to appreciate. All over the 
South, for a dozen years after the Civil war, 
there were frequent clashes between the two 
races. In some cases, men were driven to des- 
peration, and blood w^as shed. To be .shoved off 
the side' walk in one’s own town and be cursed 
by a former slave ^'88 just a little more than tire 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COI^I^HOH 


55 


blue-eyed Anglo-Saxon could stand. A clash 
between the soldiers and the Wofford College 
students on account of the latter’s resistance of 
the impudence of the negroes was narrowdy 
averted more than once. 

There w^ere not many negroes in Spartanburg, 
but a few who had made themselves very ob- 
noxious to the white people and especially to the 
students. One tall, angular, copper-colored 
negro came to Spartanburg and claimed to have 
a diploma from one of the Northern colleges. 
He was for a time “The Reverend” among the 
negroes, and he harangued them nightly on 
social equality and their duty to have and to hold 
the reins of government. His brazen effrontery 
was intolerable and the wonder is that he was 
not shot to death before he left the town. 

The man wore good clothes, an elegant silk 
hat, and twirled a dainty gold-headed cane in 
his much bejeweled fingers. He was large and 
strong — this educated negro — had jostled several 
of the students in his afternoon perambulations, 
aad really seeme4 to enjoy tbe sport, apparently 


56 HOW ZACH CAMS TO COSSEGE 

selecting his streets for the purpose of meeting 
the boys. He had not seen the mountaineer. 
The fellow’s insolence was discussed more than 
once by groups of indignant college boys. The 
mountaineer heard of it. He smiled, but said 
nothing. 

One lovely afternoon in April, the mountaineer 
and two of his classmates strolled down Church 
Street. They had not gene far before they met 
the “educated gentleman of color’’ walking very 
leisurely, looking as wise as an owl and twirling 
his gold-headed cane. He walked close to the 
fence, as was his custom, meaning to force every- 
one he met to take the outside regardless of the 
direction he was going. The mountaineer saw 
his purpose, but knew that he and his compan- 
ions were entitled to the inside and determined 
to have it at any cost. So he said to the boys: 
“Keep quiet and leave him to me.” Stepping 
directly in front of the burly fellow, he seized 
him by the lapels of his tight-fitting coat and 
shook him until his silk hat and little cane rolled 
into the gutter; then giving him a twist and a 


HOW XACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


57 


kick, lie dumped the “educated gentleman of 
color” into the middle of the street, saying very 
calmly: “Now, sir, report that if you dare, and 
we’ll tie a rock to your neck and feed you to 
the fishes in Lawson’s Fork.” It was never re- 
ported, nor was any other white person ever 
jostled on the streets of Spartanburg by this 
interloper. 


M/ 

'\ 






CHAPITER VlII. 


“Not for to hide it in a hedge, 
Nor for a train attendant, 


But for the glorious privilege 
Of being independent.” 


—Burns. 


“Every person has two educations, one 
which he receives from others, and one, more 
important, which he gives to himself.” 


— Gibbon. 



HE nejct vacation was spent, as was the pre- 


ceding one, in teaching the short-term school 
and in marketing everything that could be spared 
from the garden, dairy and poultry yard. 

Eate in the summer, however, Zach determined 
to drop out of college for a year and teach school. 
A ten-month school was offered him, and after 
considering the matter thoroughly, he decided 
to take it. He kept up his studies, reviewing 
carefully all that he had been over at college and 
doing his level best to teach the mountain urchins 
as they had never been taught before. By close 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


59 


economy he saved enough money to defray his 
expenses the next two years at college. 

This year out of college was very helpful to 
Zach. The careful review of his studies and his 
efforts to teach Katie Latin and Algebra were of 
incalculable benefit to him. Many an evening, 
too, he and Katie spent reading and discussing 
works of fiction and history. 

Though the year was helpful to Zach, it was 
not without its trials to the mountaineer and his 
black-eyed beaut5^ A quaint old diving once 
said: “There’s a lot of human natur in man.” 
There proved to be much “human natur” in 
these mountain coves. Katie’s increasing beauty 
and brightness excited the envy of her childhood 
associates and they were not slow in letting her 
know that she was “gitten too smart fur her 
raisin’.” More than once she was accused of 
getting “book larnin” and of being “too bigitty 
fur the company of decent folks whut makes they 
livin’ with ther own han’s. ” 

The sun had not long peeped over the eastern 
horizon, and Mrs. Kelly, having finished her 


6o 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


morning work, had just swept around the front 
door of her little cabin and seated herself in a 
splint-bottom chair by the side of the door, when 
Mrs. Flennigan rode leisurely by on her sham- 
bling, double-jointed pony. 

“Good mornin’. Miss Flennigan, good mornin’ 
and how’s all at yo’ house?” inquired Mrs. Kelly 
in a peculiar screaking voice that found its way 
into every crack and crevice of the neighboring 
hills, 

“All well, thang God, an’ how’s all wid you- 
uns?” 

“Powerful poorly, powerful poorly. Miss Flen- 
nigan: Mose is got a sore toe, Jake sprained his 
ankle yistidday and Liza’s got a misery in her 
side this mornin’ — but name a gracious, Miss 
Flennigan, whar you be gwine so soon this 
fine mornin’?’’ 

“Why I’m gwine to the quiltin’ at Miss Young' 
bloods — ain’t you-uns be got no invite?” 

“Invite? Sakes alive, we-uus aint even ez 
much ez hearn tell of it. And I be bound that’s 
the work of that thar Katie Langford, a miser’- 


tiow ZACH CAMK TO COIvI^KCE 6 1 

ble, little, bigitty hussy. She didn’t want my 
gals thar to out-shine her, and I be bound ’twar 
her doin’s that kep’ Miss Youngblood fuin send- 
in’ us the. invite.” 

To fail to get an “invite” to a quilting was a 
fearful blow to one’s pride, and a discount to her 
social standing beyond reparation in “these 
parts,” and no one could feel a thiug of this kind 
more keenly than Mrs. Kelly and her “gals.” 

Katie was late reporting at the quilting that 
day. The conversation between Mrs. Kelly and 
Mrs. Flennigan was properly seasoned and dished 
out by the latter dame to those who sat around 
the quilting frame, due care being taken, of 
course, to prevent Mrs. Youngblood from hear- 
ing it 

“Miss Kelly is about right in her notion of 
that cretur,” said Miss Tarrant, an elderly 
maiden lady who had no special business of 
her own, but did not hesitate to attend promptly 
to that of her neighbors. “Why, bless your 
life, I wus thar t’other day to see her mammy, 
and that impident little hussy sot thar the whole 


62 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO COLI^HGK 


time with a pencil een one han’ an’ a book een 
t’other ; an’ thar she read an’ scratched, an’ 
scratched an’ read till nigh on to sun down. 1 
told her she’d never make a woman worth any 
man’s time, ef she didn'^t put them things outen 
her ban’s. I told her a broom handle would 
suit her ban’s a heap better’n that thar pencil, 
an’ the rattle of a dishpan would do her a sight 
more good than all she could git outen that 
book.” 

“And whut did she say, then?” queried Miss 
Matilda Jones, who had as unselfishly as possible 
watched Katie’s rapid development and Zach’s 
increasing affection for her. 

“VVhut did she say? Bless your soul, chile, 
she jess flung that little curl back offen her 
forehead, an’ turned them black eyes o’ hern 
on me, an’ she p’inted her forefinger p’int blank 
at me, she did, an’ she said with her voice a 
tremblin’ : 

‘Miss Tarrant, God never made women to 
sweep and wash dishes all ther days and ef 
you had improved the talents God gave you. 


troW ^ACH CAME TO COtEEGE 


63 


you might hev made yourself worth some man’s 
time and you wouldn’t hev been a long-necked, 
skinny old maid to-day.’ ” 

“Lor-sa-massy !” exclaimed a chorus of voices. 
“And did she say that, Miss Tarrant?” 

“Course she did and more too; why that gal 
ain’t feeard of man nor devil. When she said 
that I jist perlitely told her that I would rither 
be a old maid with a long neck than to be tied 
to sich a thing as .she was hankerin’ arter; for 
old Big Zach was nothin’ but a tub of mush, 
nohow.” 

“Gemimy! you did give her a good un,” said 
Mrs. Wampole, after the laughter had subsided. 
“Did that satisfy the little smarty then?’’ 

“Tordy, no; why she jist up and said: ‘Why, 
Miss Tarrant, Big Zach, as you call him, lights 
his pipe every mornin’ with things better’n you 
is. Why you looks jist like somebody had tied 
your neck around a limb and left you thar all 
summer to dry out; and now ma’m, thar’s the 
door and thar’s the road, you kin tek ’em both.’ ’* 
“And what did you do?” asked more than one. 


^4 


HOW ZACH CAMK 1^0 COI.I,EGK 


“Me? why, I jist tuck ’em both, an’ anybody 
else would a done — ’’ 

“Good mornin’, Katie, good mornin’ honey, 
you air late this mornin’, but come right in, your 
company is always welcome in this house.’’ 

With this warm reception Katie Langford was 
ushered by Mrs. Youngblood into the presence of 
the ladies sitting around the quilting frame. 

With laughing eyes and cheeks aglow with 
the rich warm blood that flowed through her 
veins, the bright young girl whose entrance 
so unceremoniously checked the conversation 
around the quilting frame promptly asked par- 
don for being tardy, and, in a little time, was 
comfortably seated and rapidly plying her 
needle. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“Though losses aud crosses 
Be lessons right severe, 

There’s wit there, you’ll get there, 

You’ll find no other where.’’ — R obt. Burns. 


ATiJi Eangford was no ordinary girl. She 



A A was thoughtful beyond one of her years. 
Quick wit and indomitable will power she inher- 
ited from “Old Joe,” her father. 

Joe Eangford, though illiterate, was not an 
ignoramus. He was a close observer, studied 
men and things, drew his own conclusions, had 
the courage of his convictions, but of books he 
knew nothing. Of the half dozen men in the 
township who subscribed for the county paper 
Joe Eangford was one, not because he wanted it 
but because Katie said he must have it. 

Joe believed in God, in himself, in his wife, and 
in Katie, “the smartest gal that uver figgered 
up a feller’s taxes.” In that home Katie’s wish 
was law; to that fact was due the weekly visits 


66 


HOW ZACH CAME 1^0 COEEEGE 


of The Intelligencer ^ the leading county paper. 
Joe believed it was his duty to make a good 
iving, live honestly in the sight of God and 
man, owe no man anything, say his prayers 
once a day, and vote for Zeb Vance at every 
election whether Zeb ran for anything or not. 
For the paper he cared nothing. “The almi- 
nick,” he said, “is all I wants, and that’s jest 
to tell me when the moon will git right fur 
plantin’ taters an killin’ meat.” 

But the paper made its regular visits because 
Katie wanted it, and Joe’s pleasure was meas- 
ured only by that of his daughter. Nor was 
this the only paper that found its way to that 
home. The Saturday Evening Post was handed 
to Katie one afternoon by the postmaster, and, 
after that, came regularly. Not Joe Tangford, 
but another, had introduced that welcome visitor 
at the home under the elms. 

From these two papers the hungry soul of the 
innocent mountain girl got food and inspiration. 
She read them over and over again. They 
to her a necessity an4» though hemmed 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COI.r.EGE 


67 


in by the mountain peaks ’round about her, her 
horizon was rapidly widening, and day after day 
left her in a larger world than she lived in at its 
beginning. 

Katie was spared the temptation to which so 
many young girls yield nowadays— that of read- 
ing too much and developing almost hopeless 
cases of intellectual dyspepsia. She had but few 
books and read, re-read, and copied them until 
they became a part of her very self. Many a 
night, when the v/eather was pleasant and her 
parents asleep, she read for hours by the flick- 
ering light of a pine knot ; and more than once, 
at the break of day, was found fast asleep on 
the floor, her last pine knot having crumbled 
into ashes on the hearth. 

The girl’s characteristic frankness forced her 
to render to the ladies around the quilting-frame 
her excuse for being tardy. The truth was she 
had been reading a story in one of her papers in 
which she became intensely interested, and could 
not tear herself from it until she had read the 
last }|ne, This sb« candidly admitted and, after 


68 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGB 


the few moments of almost painful silence with 
which her excuse was received, she proceeded to 
give her listeners a concise but intelligent out- 
line of the story. 

The story grew out of the great Chicago fire 
of 1871, and as Katie told of the twenty-seven 
hundred houses burned, the two hundred lives 
lost and of the two hundred million dollars of 
property swept away by the great conflagration, 
it was just a little more than the incredulous 
ones could stand. 

“Lordy,” said Mrs. Jones, “whut a lie!” 

The girl’s face reddened perceptibly, but she 
bit her lip and went on with the narrative. 

“That’s nuthin,” said a red-haired, bare- 
footed girl of thirteen; “that’s nuthin, pap’s 
new ground cotch afire las’ week an’ burnt ever’ 
bresh-heap an’ ever’ rail, an’ nobuddy’s writ 
’bout that.” 

“Shet yo’ mouth, ’Tizabcth!’/ snarled her 
mother; “whut you know ’bout fires an’ sich?” 

The woman was in full sympathy with the 
cloud’s remark, but, knowing from experience 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COLSEGS 


69 


the possibilities of the unruly member, deemed 
it best to bridle the tongue before it was too 
late. 

Aunt Mary Singletary, an octogenarian, sat 
near the fireplace, knitting leisurely on a long 
woolen stocking. She had known the time 
when she could put as many stitches in a quilt 
as the “spryest gal een the cove,” but that time 
was gone — her fingers were too old and stiff. 
The old soul pitied the girl whose extravagance 
and recklessness had been discussed previous to 
her arrival, and determined to read her a lecture 
and, if possible, save her from her waywardness* 
So, adjustingther brass-rimmed spectacles and 
scooping from the hearth some hot ashes on the 
few crumbs of tobacco that la)^ in the bowl of 
her cob pipe, she said: 

“Katie, my chile, does you b’lieve all that 
stuff? Don’t you know them critters is foolin’ 
uv ye? Is folks gwine ter stan’ aroun’ an’ let 
that many houses burn bethont puttin’ the fire 
out? An’ kin houses be so close together ez to 
ketch fire one fum t’other? Why hits agin rea- 


70 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


son. Kf they wuz so close, folks wouldn’t hev 
no place fur the’r gyardin an’ chickens an’ pigs 

i? 

an’ sich. Honey, they air a* foolin’ uv 5^e. An’ 
I hear tell how you air a-gittin’ uv a paper jist 
ez rigilar ez the Thursday comes. Is Joe Tang- 
ford gone clean stark crazy? chile, you air 
gittin’ ruint. Arter awhile you won’t be fittin’ 
fur nuthin’. You can’t sew an’ spin an’ weave 
an’ scour an’ cook an’ raise chickens, an’ milk, 
an’ sich. Don’t you know a gal’s business is to 
git married an’ raise childurn an’ ’tend to her 
home an’ things? Chile, you air sho gittin’ 
spoiled.” 

“Aunt Mary’’ was old and ^Tinkled and 
toothless, but her tongue was as nimble as it 
was seventy years before. 

During this tirade needles v/ere dropped and 
all eyes turned toward “Aunt Mary.” Katie 
tried more than once to reply to her ques- 
tions, but the old lady, having undertaken her 
“bounden duty,” raised her palsied hand in 
protest. “The longest lane must have a turn- 
ing,” however; sq Mother Singletary stopped 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


71 


long enough to relight her pipe and get a fresh 
start. 

Katie took advantage of this brief interval 
and, though she felt the embarrassment of the 
situation and felt that she was but one “against 
the held” determined to make the best of the 
fight. She was strongly tempted once to leave 
the room, but respect for “Aunt Mary’s” great 
age and sincere motive made her resolve to con- 
trol her emotions and tongue the best she couV 
and stand her ground. 

“Aunt Mary, my father is not crazy,” she said, 
biting her lip and deftly brushing away a tear 
that moistened her cheek; “he subscribed for 
that paper because I asked him to do it. I 
wanted it for my own benefit and pleasure. I do 
not ask my neighbors to read it — I simpl}" ask 
to be let alone. If I choose to read and learn 
something of what the world is doing outside of 
this cove, it is nobody’s business.” 

“You better be er — ” 

“Stop now. Miss Nelson, and let me have my 

say; Aunt Mary has ha4 hers, and I guess she 


72 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COETEGE 


Spoke for the whole crowd,” continued the now 
self-controled girl. 

Blood was now on the moon. The whole 
crowd seemed to be in fighting humor. Miss 
Tarrant had a very distinct recollection of a 
previous “bout” with Katie, and, emboldened 
by her surroundings, determined to make one 
final thrust. 

“You better be helpin’ yo’ sickly mammy to 
wnsh. dishes an’ sich, stiddier readin’ an primp- 
in’, an’ primpin’ an’ readin’” she hissed, at the 
same time pushing back her rapidly vanishing 
“bangs” and passing the snuff-box to Miss 
Jones. 

Katie tried to interrupt her before the sen- 
tence was concluded, but in vain. Miss Tarrant 
was loaded, or thought she was, and that one 
shot had to be fired. Before the smoke of this 
discharge had cleared away, several of the less 
belligerent ones of the party chuckled their 
indorsement, and Miss Tarrant smiled com- 
placently. 

Katie saw now that she had stirred up a hor- 


HOW 2ACH cams to COI,I,ICG^ 73 

net’s nest, and must fight it to a finish or retire 
ingioriously from the field. Her voice trembled 
perceptibly, but her strong eyes flashed defiance. 

Looking Miss Tarrant full in the face, she 
said with an earnestness that wilted that dig- 
nified spinster: 

“Miss Tarrant, you know what I think of 
you. * I need not repeat what I said to you once. 
I care nothing for your opinion of me, but your 
effort to make these ladies believe that I neglect 
my delicate mother is positively mean; no true 
woman would stoop to such a thing and no 
good woman could be guilty of it.” 

Miss Tarrant’s embarrassment was painful. 
She tried to reply, but could not. This time 
K;atie did not propose to be interrupted, and, 
turning her face to the others, continued: 

“I am glad there are ladies here who visit my 
mother and know that I do not neglect her. 
They know that I do all the cooking and all 
the housework. I love my mother and she 
loves me. I do all the work and nurse her 
just as well as I can, and she encourages me 


74 


HOW ZACH CAMB TO COTtEGE 


to read and study. I wish the people would 
let me alone.’’ 

Then, like the real woman that she was, hav- 
ing won the fight, she wept. Miss Tarrant felt 
faiuty and asked for smelling salts. 

‘‘Truth is truth, an’ right is right,” said Mrs. 
Simpson, a quiet, motherly old soul, who had 
said nothing up to this time. “Truth is truth, 
an’ I must do Katie jestis to say that ever’ -word 
she says is born truth. I’ve been thar off an’ 
on an’ menny uv a time, an’ hev eat Katie’s 
cookin’ and knows hit’s good. She kin fry a 
chicken so hit will mek yo’ mouth water, an’ 
batter cakes — she thes nachily beats the cove 
on them. Miss Langford told me she wus the 
best chile she ever seed. I wus thar one day 
and Miss Langford had one o’ them turrible 
headaches. That chile thes sot thar an’ rubbed 
her maw’s head till time to git dinner. When 
Katie went to the kitchen, she tole me how the 
chile waited on her an’ petted her thes lak she 
wus a baby. She said Katie loved to I’arn her 
books, an’ stiddier hit hurtin’ ’er, hit done her 


sow ZACiH CAMS 1^0 COI<I,®GK 7^ 

good. Yes, I must say that much fur K^tie, 
fur Miss lyangford told me wi’ her own lips, 
an’ I’ve seed enough wi’ my own eyes.” 

The tension was relieved. Katie had won. 
There was a general dipping of snuff, and most 
of the ladies addressed themselves anew to the 
task before them. Some of them went to the 
water-bucket and Miss Tarrant slipped out 
through the kitchen into the yard to get a 
breath of fresh air. 

Katie dried her tears, and thanked Mrs. Simp- 
son for coming to her rescue. ‘T did hope,” 
said she, “that the other girls would get inter- 
ested in reading. We could get together and 
have such a good time talking about what we 
read; and that would be so much better than 
talking about one another.” 

“The lyord hev mercy on us ef our gals hes to 
git Tamin’ an’ readitT an’ stuff stiddier gittiii’ 
married an’ raisin’ chillun an’ sicli.” This part- 
ing shot came from Aunt Mary Singletary, the 
privileged character, now wreathed in a cloud 
of smoke which came from her old cob pipe. It 


76 


tiow zaOh cams to coli^egE 


was received with a smile and the subject was 
dismissed. 

That was a long day for Katie. She was 
treated with the utmost kindness and politeness 
now, but still there was a lack of ease on the 
part of several, and this she thought was due to 
her presence. 

When the work was finished and the needles 
put away, she donned her bonnet — the ever- 
present “split bonnet” — and, wishing the ladies 
a very pleasant evening, started toward her 
home. Mrs. Youngblood and others insisted 
that she remain for the dance, but she declined, 
saying that her mother was not feeling well 
when she left her and that she promised to be 
back before sundown. 

,The poor girl had a sad, lonely walk. She 
was sad, not because of what she had said or 
done, but because she now fully realized that 
her efforts to lift herself up were estranging if 
not embittering some of the dearest friends 
of her childhood. She did not remain for the 
dance, not altogether because of her mother’s 


How 2ACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


77 


indisposition, but mainly because she didn’t 
care to. Amusement of that kind did not 
appeal to her now as it did in the days that 
were gone. There was a time, and in quite 
recent years, when Katie I^angford was consid- 
ered the best dancer in the cove and beyond 
all doubt the belle of the neighborhood, but for 
that kind of distinction she now had no taste. 
Then, too, she knew that Zach would not be 
there. He had told her that he had several 
pairs of shoes to mend and thought his excuse 
for absence a valid one. The truth was Katie 
and Zach were both realizing, for the first time 
in their lives, perhaps, the “expulsive power of a 
new affection.” Each had new aims and aspira- 
tions ; old things failed to satisfy. 


CHAPTER X. 


mountaineer was not a genius, but a pa- 
tient, persistent worker. He had faith in 
himself and in God. During the next two years 
he did faithful, effective college work and 
“walked in his integrity.” Eessons were pre- 
pared with scrupulous care, and a bull-dog te- 
nacity marked his every effort. Education with 
him was now a business, an all-absorbing busi- 
ness, and worthy of the best that 'was in him. 

More and more conscious of his shortcomings 
and feeling more keenly every day his utter lack 
of early training, Zach determined to lose no op- 
portunity in the lecture room or out of it for in- 
creasing his store of information, developing his 
powers and broadening his horizon. What a 
determined man with reasonable endowment can 
accomplish in a given time is sometimes amazing. 
Some of ZaclPs friends, in college and out of it, 
predicted that he would never make his college 
course. They didn’t know the man. 


HOW 2ACH CAME 'fO COEEEGE 


79 


That the college literary society has steadily 
declined in efficiency during the last thirty years 
no one who has carefully looked into the subject 
can deny. Nor is the reason for this hard to 
find. Conditions have changed. Aims and ideals 
of young men seeking education are not what 
they once were. College life, like all other life, 
is vastly more strenuous. Professors anxious 
about their own reputations and deeply interested 
in the thorough equipment of their students for 
the work of the world after they leave college, 
demand of them more work and better work than 
in former times. Indeed, so great is this demand 
upon the time, energy and strength of the student 
that he has but little left for literary society 
work or for anything else. 

Then, too, three decades ago, the college orator 
was the hero of the campus. The highest ambi- 
tion of the average student was to speak well, 
and that meant too often only “stately attitudi- 
nizing, graceful action, moving and winning ap- 
peal to the emotions, and range and power of 
vocal expression.” 


8o 


HOW ZACH CAMK 0^0 COI^IvliGK 


The college orator is no longer the hero. The 
“crack” pitcher, the “dandiest” catcher, the 
“quickest” short-stop on the diamond, the 
“heaviest” center-rush and “safest” tackle on the 
gridiron have dragged him from his pedestal. 

When Zach entered college, the literary society 
was looked upon by educators generally as no 
unimportant part of the college curriculum. In- 
deed the work of the society was considered so 
indispensable that one of the requirements of the 
trustees was that every student should become a 
member of it. 

Zach joined, not because he desired to become 
an orator, but because of this requirement, and 
believed as a matter of course that it would be 
helpful to him. And so it was. He enjoyed the 
debate the first evening immensely; picked up 
bits of valuable information; and wondered at the 
well-rounded sentences and marvelous flights of 
eloquence that fell from the seniors' lips. He 
had never seen or heard the like before. Here 
for him was a strange, new world. 

After two meetings the mountaineer was as- 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


8l 


signed to duty along with other freshmen. He 
was swept off his feet. Could he do it? Could 
he speak before tho.se mighty seniors and fear- 
less juniors? He had two weeks in which to get 
up his speech. With him duty was a sacred 
word. He would try it. He would do his best. 

He did try it. He did do his very best; and 
succeeded, net in making an eloquent speech, 
but in convincing himself that a man can do very 
unpleasant things when impelled by a fixed pur- 
pose to shirk no duty but to make the best of 
every opportunity. 

That first effort at public speaking was painful 
to our hero. His great frame shook as he stood 
there in the bright light of that glittering chan- 
delier, the first he had ever seen, and he s|Toke 
in a stumbling, halting, incoherent way, but he 
fought it out word by word, piece by piece, until 
he had said in a way all that he came there to 
say. Then, with a sigh, he sat down feeling 
that he had disgraced himself. But the ice was 
broken. 

When the society adjourned a thoughtful. 


82 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


sympathetic senior took the big freshman by the 
hand and congratulated him on his first effort. 
Then he told him of Disraeli’s experience, of his 
promise and of the after life of the great states- 
man; and, taking him to the library, handed him 
a book from which he might learn more of the 
achievements of the eloquent Englishman. The 
mountaineer was grateful for that timely kind- 
ness, and that night long after the lights in other 
rooms were blown out his w^as burning brightly 
— the book before him w^as a newly-discovered 
treasure. 

By persistent, repeated efforts, Zach overcame 
his diffidence. He never shirked a duty, but 
seldom volunteered on debate. His speeches 
were short, concise and to the point. He never 
indulged in glittering generalities, but, having 
studied the subject well, knew what he wanted 
to say and said it. 

He had a keen ear for the ludicrous and some- 
times in illustrating a point indulged in humor. 
Ris presence, mellifluous voice, 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


83 


keen sense of humor and terse, epigrammatic 
sentences never failed to command attention. 

One night in the heat of debate Zach straight- 
ened himself to his full heiglit, and, raising his 
chubby hand, said: “Mr. President, Mr. _Pope 
says, ‘Whatever is right is right’.” This slip of 
the tongue caused an outburst of applause and 
laughter. The speaker looked surprised. After 
the laughter ceased, he added in solemn tones: 
“And I believe he was right.” This brought 
down the house. Zach finished his speech and 
sat down. Learning from one of the bo5^s what 
caused the fun he laughed as heartily as if one 
of the other members had made the mistake. 

The mountaineer got more real benefit from 
his connection with the society than many others 
who took a noisier interest in the debates than 
he did. He was a good listener: weighed argu- 
ments well and voted alwa5^s according to his 
own convictions as to the relative merits of the 
arguments produced. For mere sky-scraping 
effusions he had a contempt; to thoughtful, 
pointed fittera^nce fie gave closest attention, IJe 


84 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


once said, “I like to hear a man talk who has 
something to say; we can get all the gas we want 
two rooms below” — in the chemical laboratory. 

Though he had no desire to become an orator, 
he ‘‘hungered and thirsted” for knowledge from 
whatever source. In those days, the literary 
societies had each its own library. Here the 
mountaineer found what he wanted. Every book 
was to him a friend speaking truth, and opening 
up a larger, greater, fuller world. Saturdays he 
gave to these, and, indeed, most of the other 
time he could spare from his text books. He 
was fond of poetry, but found greatest pleasure 
in history and biography. Franklin’s autobiog- 
raphy was one of the first he read, and to this 
one book he did not hesitate to declare he was 
indebted for much of the inspiration that carried 
him through his college course. 

The Vicar of Wakefield was an eye-opener to 
the mountaineer and Scott’s Ivanhoe a delight, 
but Cooper’s novels had for him a fascination and 
a charm uneqlialed by any others. “These,” 
said he, “stir my blood and sometimes tempt me 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


85 


to neglect my text-books. O, I wish I had 
time just to read, read, read. How many years 
of my life I have wasted!” And then with a 
sigh, “But I didn’t know.” 

The thoughtful fellow realized that while 
fiction had a peculiar charm for him, biography 
and history contained what he most needed. To 
these he gave the preference, and instead of 
worrying over hours that were wasted, deter- 
mined to waste no more. 

The mountaineer was fond of a good joke and 
could tell a story well. He liked innocent 
amusement, too, and never hesitated to indulge 
whenever time and opportunity permitted; but 
there was one thing his fellows could never in- 
duce him to do: he would not take “laughing 
gas.” Once a year Prof. Warren DuPre, the 
chemist, administered this gas to any of the 
students that desired to take it. That was 
always a great time with the whole student 
body, and, not infrequently, numbers of people 
from the city came over to the campus to witness 
the antics of the boys while under its influence. 


86 


HOW zACH came: to coli.e:ge 


All knew that the effect produced by the gas 
depended largely upon the disposition and tem- 
perament of the subject. Some made speeches; 
some sang and danced; others wanted to fight, 
and still others wanted to hug everybody in 
sight. All were curious to see what the big boy 
from the mountains would do. But in spite of 
their entreaties, Zach persistently declined to 
take the gas, declaring that he did not need any- 
thing to help him make a fool of himself. ‘‘I 
do not want anything,” he said, “that will make 
me more ridiculous in the sight of other people 
than I am ordinarily.” 

During two years of the mountaineer’s college 
course, there was one other large man among 
the students: “Big Eck’’ the boys called him — 
sometimes, the “Baby.” When Zack was sopho- 
more, “Big Eck” was senior. The two tipped 
the scales at about the same notch. Both were 
handsome, muscular, agile. The “Baby” had a 
classic face, was scholarly and dignified. 

As to which of the two — the South Carolinian 
or th^ Ti^rheel — wa§ tbe stronger, opinion among 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


87 


the boys was divided. Each, of course, had his 
champions, though neither of the big boys cared 
a straw to solve the problem. Their ambitions 
lay in other directions. 

In those days there were ten minutes between 
the bells calling the students to recitations. 
When the weather was good the classes generally 
assembled in front of the college building to 
await the ringing of the second bell. 

One fine day it happened that Zach and the 
“Baby’’ were there among the others. A wrest- 
ling match between the two giants was proposed 
by a mischievous freshman who cared as much 
for personal prowess as he did for mastering 
the Euclid or Xenophon. The big boys declined 
at first, then hesitated, and finally yielded to the 
entreaties of the crowd. Coats and vests were 
thrown off and the smiling sophom’ore and the 
dignified senior were w’alking into the ring when 
Prof. DiiPre walked around the corner of the 
building. Ascertaining what was up, the Pro- 
fessor smilingly said, “Gentlemen, I am fond of 
sport and like to see youn^ men o{ average size 


88 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


test their strength by wrestling, but really I 
think it would be hazarding too much for you 
two men to engage in a wrestling match. You 
are both very large and very strong. One or 
both of you might get badly hurt. You are risk- 
ing too much for the amusement you would give 
these boys. I beg you not to do it.” 

That was enough. The big-hearted Professor 
tipped his hat and walked on to his class-room. 
Every boy in that crowd loved Prof. DuPre and 
knew that he was right. The match was called 
off. Though all yielded as gracefully as possible, 
considering their eagerness for the fray and boy- 
ish indifference to consequences, many were 
badly disappointed. 

Thwarted in their efforts to test the mountain- 
eer’s strength, they were more and more de- 
termined to gratify their curiosity if possible. 
One of the smallest members of his class amused 
himself and the others frequently by having 
Zach hold him out on his strong right arm. 
Still this did not satisfy the boys — those big, 
knotty muscles must be tested. Somebody must 


89 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COTEEGE 

put that broad back on the ground if possible. 
No one man but the “Baby” need try it. That 
was conceded, but, for that match there was no 
chance, for the big fellows, out of deference for 
the Professor’s wishes, had positively declined 
to wrestle. 

Finally, one afternoon, two students bantered 
the mountaineer for a wrestle — two against one. 
They were both grown, a little below the average 
size, but well-built and as active and sinewy as 
Texas ponies. The challenge was accepted. 
The two were to tackle as they pleased and Zach 
to defend himself as best he could. It was a 
battle royal, — this between the two ball players 
and the mountain wood-chopper. Students were 
as wild with excitement as they now get over a 
foot-ball game, and tumbled over one another 
to see how the struggle would terminate. Many 
times Zach was clear of the ground, the two boys 
lifting him up bodily, but invariably when he 
came down one of the others was underneath 
him. The contest lasted many minutes, the two 
boys hoping to tire the big fellow out. In this 


9b 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COI^I^EOfe 


they were mistaken. Zach had felled too many 
trees, had done too inany hard days’ work to be 
“winded” by a little tussle like that. The two 
boys, soiled with perspiration and dirt, gave it 
up; all had a hearty laugh, and Zach walked off 
to his room whistling as merrily as if returning 
from a corn shucking, or an evening’s frolic 
with the young people in a mountain home. The 
question. Who is the stronger, the mountaineer 
or the “Baby’’ is to this day an unsolved prob- 
lem. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“And in every work that he began in the 
service of the house of God, and in the law, 

, and in the commandments, to seek his God, 
he did it with all his heart and prospered.” 

— 2 Chron. xxxi, 21. 

'pHOUGH Zacli’s religion was of a decided type 
he did not proclaim it from the house tops. 
Though modest and unassuming, he was none 
the less positive and uncompromising when it 
came to a question of right and wrong. In 
those days there was no young men’s Christian 
association in college, bul our hero was a regular 
attendant at the Wednesday afternoon prayer- 
meeting. He was never ashamed of the banner 
under which he served, but never flaunted it in 
the faces of his fellow-students. 

Anxious for every possible agency and every 
moment of time to contribute to the enlargement 
of his life and the deepening of his sympathies, 
the mountainer attended regularly the Baptist 
Sunday-school during the college sessions. And 


92 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


these Sunday lessons he found as helpful to him 
as any he learned during the other six days of 
the week. There was no more intensely earnest 
pupil in that school. There many a door was 
unlocked for him and many a treasure revealed 
that gave a new charm to life and made every 
effort to develop his faculties worth while. 

Zach was comparatively illiterate, but by no 
means wholly unlearned. Up to the time he 
entered college his one book had been the Bible, 
and no man who knew that wonderful book as 
he knew it could be called ignorant. His mother 
and his Bible had been his constant companions. 
Urom the one he learned daily lessons of truth 
and purity; from the other — that great literature 
in prose and poetry — he got the highest ideals 
of human character. Truth was his guiding 
star; right, the determining factor in every 
question. 

Though watchful of every possible means of 
self-improvement, Zach was not self-centered. 
He did not allow selfness to degenerate into 
selfishness. He realized that a larger life and 


tiow ZACH CAME TO COIvEEGB 


03 


greater opportunities brought with them greater 
responsibilities. His sympathies were ever with ♦ 
the people among whom he was born and reared. 
He knew them and loved them. He loved the 
rugged manhood of the men and the simple 
purity of the women, and longed to contribute 
in some way to their social and intellectual 
uplift. 

In that admirable little book, “School, College 
and Character,” Mr. Briggs, of Harvard, says: 
“From his studies he [the student] gets more o^ 
less culture, but no backbone; from his foot-ball 
he gets the stuff and substance of his education. 
The business man often prefers in his office a 
successful college athlete to a successful college 
scholar ; for the athlete, as the business man 
says, ‘has done something.’ ” 

Our mountaineer was not a college athlete — 
he had no time now for that kind of training 
which under different circumstances would have 
been most pleasing to him. That side of one’s 
education had in his case, however, been the 
only one not neglected. Before he knew what 


94 HOW ZACH CAMS TO COSSSGS 

a college was, his life-long training in the uni- 
versity of hard work and hard knocks had fully 
developed his physical strength and, at the same 
time, fostered great will power and had crystal- 
ized into the habit of self-reliance. In short, he 
had long ago learned how to “do things” by 
doing them. 

If there was one thing the mountaineer knew 
better than any other it was the temper of his 
own people. He knew full well they would 
brook nothing that smacked of pedantry. If he 
would lift them to a higher plane of thinking 
and living, it must be done in the plainest, sim- 
plest, most natural manner. He would not 
preach them a gospel of “dont’s” — of that they 
had quite enough in the prohibitory laws of the 
land. He would show them “the better way” 
by leading them into the light. 

As a rule, the hardest people to move, and 
sometimes the most dangerous when aroused, 
are those who are contented with their condition 
because of total ignorance of their possibilities. 
Zach knew this. “My people can not be 


Hoiv 2ACH CAMK TO COI^IyEGE 95 

driven,” said he, “but, by one who gives them 
real sympathy and genuine interest, they can be 
led into anything good or bad. I believe they 
have faith in my integrity; and, if what little I 
have learned is worth anything, I shall invest it 
with all my soul in their betterment.” 

That promise Zach made to himself one day 
during his third year at college. So, during the 
first weeks of the following vacation, he organ- 
ized a Sunday-school in the little log house in 
which he taught the children during the week. 
Out of his own savings he purchased a dozen 
copies of an inexpensive song book. These he 
put into the hands of his pupils and himself 
taught them to sing a number of the brightest 
selections. The little ones sang them with a 
will and enjoyed the exercise immensely. 

So when the teacher invited all who cared to 
do so to meet him at the schoolhouse the next 
Sunday at 4 o’clock, for the purpose of organ- 
izing a Sunday-school that they might learn 
other songs and study the Bible, there was gen- 
eral rejoicing. “Bring your Ma and Pa, too,” 


96 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

said the teacher, “bring all the family if they 
will come.’’ 

“Fetch Tige, too?’’ asked a tow-headed urchin 
who looked upon Tige, his dog, as by no means 
the least important member of his family. 

“No, you needn’t fetch Tige,’’ was the reply, 
“but bring all the children.’’ 

Edgar was there, and so was Tige and ever}^^ 
other member of Edgar’s family; and every 
member of many other families. 

And Tige was not the only canine present. 
Sam Crawford’s Bull, a vicious-looking, crop- 
eared cur, was there and did not hesitate to 
make the fact known. Bull seemed to realize 
that the little house was crowded and proceeded 
to drive Tige out. Tige questioned his authority 
and then and there they undertook to settle the 
question. 

Led by the teacher the children were singing, 
if not melodiously, still very vigorously, while 
parents looked on with unmistakable delight. 
Very little attention would have been paid to the 
fighting of the dogs but for the danger of their 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


97 


biting some of the children in their blind rage. 
So, seizing Tige by the hind legs, Bill Sanders 
said to Jim Fruit, “Ketch Bull by the tail, Jim, 
and fling him outen the do’ !’’ Jim grabbed Bull 
as directed and one dog was thrown out of one 
door and one out of the other. 

The song was not disturbed by the fight, the 
teacher having the good sense to rivet the atten- 
tion of the children by beginning to “beat time” 
with his hands and to sing more lustily than 
before. He left the settlement of the unex- 
pected episode to the judgment of the sturdy 
mountaineers nearest the contending brutes. 

Zach had no trouble in organizing the school. 
He soon found that he himself would have to 
act as superintendent, teacher, leader of singing, 
secretary — everything. But he was delighted 
with the spirit manifested by the children and 
their parents, and regretted that he had not 
made the attempt long before. The next Sun- 
day the crowed was so large the backless benches 
were moved out into the yard and the exer- 
cises held under the sha^e of the trees. 


98 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


The teacher had learned many great truths at 
Spartanburg, both in college and in Sunday- 
school. These he determined to pour into the 
hearts and consciences of his interested country- 
men. The Bible was the text-book, but of these 
there were not over-many in the school. The 
number was supplemented by the use of the 
orthodox, never-failing Blue-back speller. There 
were many children in the Sunday-school who 
could not read — who did not attend the day- 
school. Zach saw his opportunity and took 
advantage of it. These little ones could be 
taught the letters and taught to read here in 
the Sunday-school. In this two good women 
rendered valuable assistance. The adults were 
thrown into one large class and of this the 
teacher took charge himself. 

A regular le.sson was assigned for the follow- 
ing Sunday — one chapter from the Old Testament 
and one from the New. All were urged to read 
them and study them during the week. At the 
Sunday-school the class studied together under 
the direction of the teacher. 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COI^I^KGS 


99 


Zach believed this a door providentially opened 
and walked into it like the real man that he was. 
With him it was a labor of love, a matter of con- 
science, and he gave himself to it without any 
kind of reservation whatever. His short, pointed 
lectures to the whole school were particularly 
instructive and helpful; and were delivered in 
no patronizing way, hut always so as to make 
the simple-hearted hearers feel, “he is one of us.’ 
They trusted him and followed him because they 
loved him. They loved him because they be’ 
lieved that his was a labor of love — that, and 
that only. 

“I thes b’lieves he’s a sho-nuff Christian,” said 
Charlie Goudlock to his friends and neighbors, 
as a group of them wended their way over the 
hills toward their homes one Sunday afternoon, 
“I b’lieves he’s geniwme.” 

“Yes, yes,” responded a fat little round-faced 
woman who was puffing and blowing under the 
burden of her three-year- old boy who sat glee- 
fully astride his mother’s right hip, swinging 
with one hand to her shoulder while with the 


4 . 




lOO 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


other, in which he held a whip made of hickory- 
bark, he struck at everything in general and his 
mother’s dress-skirt in particular. “Yes, yes; 
I wus sho tuck back an’ bed a powerful misery 
’round my liver whenst he telled us ’bout thet 
po’ little boy whut hed a coat o’ seventeen 
colors — thet little feller the painters [panthers] 
eat; you know his mean brothers flung him to 
the beastis.’’ 

‘Xordy, ’Liza Jane,’’ said another, taking her 
pipe from her lips, “he nuver said seventeen 
colors, he said lots uv -^em, mebbe two hundred; 
I know hit war a powerful sight, an’ I gut to 
thinkin’ ’bout my little Jeems whut I made a 
coat fur las’ week an’ dyed it outen pokeberries 
an’ sich. I thes couldn’t he’p thinkin’ whut ef 
the beastis eeii these mountings would git my 
Jeems.’’ 

“Shet yo’ mouth. Prissy; don’t you know the 
beastis ain’t a-gwine to git Jeems? that chap air 
too spry,’’ .said her husband. “ ’Sides, Zach nuver 
said the painters eat that yuther boy; he ’lowed 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COSSSGS 


lOI 


he wus butted to death by a dinged billy goat. 
That’s whut kilt him.” 

“That’s right, Jerry,” said a neighbor walk- 
ing at his heels, “that’s right, the painters didn’t 
git him, fur the chap run into a pit (that’s 
a hole een the mounting) fur to dodge ’em, an’ 
whenst he went een a billy goat butted him to 
death.” 

“Gollies, pap,” said his son, “that hain’t 
right — Zach ’lowed his mean brothers flung ’im 
een a sink-hole an’ when he drapped een he 
bruk his neck. They put him een thar to keep 
’im frum tellin’ the’r pap ’bout some o’ the'r 
devilment. Whenst the chap bruk his neck, 
then them fellers hed to lie outen it. One tole 
the ole man the painters eat the chile an’ ’nother 
said ’twas a lie; said a goat kilt him.” 

“Well, I don’t onderstand it,” said the little 
fat woman; “I don’t onderstand it ’pears like, 
but I thes mus’ b’lieve thar wus some ill doin s 
long-a that thar chile — I thes bet them wus 
moonshiners an’ wanted to git that po’ chile 


102 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COI,I,EGE 


outen the way; that’s whut made ’em drap ’im 
een that hole.” 

Unable to agree as to the exact statement 
made by the teacher concerning the boy with 
the coat of many colors, it was finally agreed to 
ask for a restatement of facts the following Sun- 
day. Then, separating, they went to their sev- 
eral homes, singing the songs they had heard at 
the Sunday-school and looking at the stars with 
a new interest as they came out one by one while 
the daylight mellowed into darkness. 

The good work Zach was doing in the Sun- 
day-school and in the day-school was much 
discussed, even beyond the boundary lines of 
his own township. He appreciated the kind 
words that were spoken to him and was encour- 
aged by them, but knew that here and there 
were some persons who doubted the sincerity of 
his motive and questioned the wisdom of his 
course. 

Tate one afternoon he met ‘‘Uncle Jeems” 
Cooley, a Primitive Baptist preacher. ‘‘Uncle 
Jeems” lived in an adjoining township and had 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COI,I,KGB 


103 


a small flock there to whom he preached — they 
were known as “Hardshells.” He was a good 
old man, ignorant and narrow, of course, but 
had the respect of the community. He visited 
the sick and buried the dead, and had done so 
for years. Indeed, the old man felt that he, more 
than any other, was responsible for the spiritual 
condition of the people, not only in his township 
but in the neighboring ones, and felt that Zach’s 
work in organizing a Sunday-school was unwar- 
rantable. Having made up his mind to see Zach 
and have a talk with him, he was glad of this 
chance meeting. 

“I’m pow’ful glad to see ye, Zachie, pow’ful 
glad to put these ole peepers on ye ag’in — how 
you wuz, my son?’’ said the old gentleman, giv- 
ing the mountaineer a hearty handshake. 

“Thank you, ‘Uncle Jeems,’ I am delighted 
to see you, I assure you — I haven’t had that 
pleasure in a long time. How are you feeling 
to- day?’’ And these words were spoken very 
cordially by the younger of the two men. 

“Very well, Zachie, very well, ’cep’in’ I b’en 


104 


HOW ZACH CAM]S TO COI,I.EGE 


pow’ful bruk up ’bout this here foolish notion 
o’ yourn.” 

The mountaineer smiled respectfully. He 
knew what the old man was referring to, but 
had too much respect for his gray locks to let 
the preacher know that he pitied him. 

“You looks lak your daddy a power, Zachie, 
a power lak ’im,” continued “Uncle Jeems,’’ 
“an’ I did hope you would settle down an’ git 
married an’ be a useful citizen lak the Cap’ain. 
But they tells me you air crazy. They tells me 
you air stirrin’ up the devil ’mongst the folks. 
They tells me you hev started a Sunday-school 
an’ is tryin’ to teach the Bible: now don’t you 
know that will onbridle the devil over on your 
side thar?” 

“I don’t think so, ‘Uncle Jeems’ ; I think we 
will drive the devil out after awhile. I know 
the people are enjoying the Sunday-school and I 
think they are being benefited by it.’’ 

“You air njistaken, Zachie; you air only on- 
loosin’ the devil. You will mek the people on- 
res’les? a,u’ dissatisfied. I don’t b’lkve een your 


HOW ZACH CAME TO ^COI.I,HGH I05 

Sunday-schools an’ missions an’ temperance an’ 
sich. You can’t teach the folks nuthin’ — they 
mus’ be led by the sperrit.” 

Seeing the mountaineer chewing something, 
the old man said: “Gi’ me a chaw o’ tobacky 
Zachie; I guess that mus’ be the pure manifac — 
jest let me taste a bite, will ye?” 

Zach assured him that he was chewing only a 
piece of hickory bark and never chewed tobacco. 

The preacher looked disappointed. “I guess 
you larnt that down yander een the flat, at the 
college thar, didn’t ye?” he said. “An mebbe 
that’s whar ye larnt how to run a Sunday-school 
an’ not drink liquor an’ sich. I knowed hit would 
come to this when I heeard you wuz gone down 
thar. I knowed them heathens would sp’ile ye.” 

The mountaineer had no disposition to discuss 
matters with the old man. He pitied him and 
was sorry for the people in the way of whose 
progress the old fellow was a decided obstacle. 
He was glad, moreover, that it was growing late 
and, expressing pleasure afforded him by the 


Io6 HOW 2ACH CAM« TO COLI^ECH 

accidental meeting, he handed the old gentleman 
his hand. 

“Uncle Jeems” returned the hearty handshake 
and said with no little earnestness: “Zachie, 
come over some time an’ spend the night wi’ me. 
Come over. Me an’ you kin jest set thar an, 
discuss things tell eight o’clock, late bedtime, 
then arter me an’ the ole ’oman is gone to bed’ 
you an the gals kin chin it ontell the rooster 
crows fur day so fur ez I’m a-keerin’. An’ 
theme’s pow’ful likely gals, my son, pow’ful 
likely. Thar’s Mag an’ Esther an’ Ruth. The 
ole ’oman says Ruth’s the bes’ lookin’, but I 
bets on Mag — that’s Magdalene — we calls her 
Mag fur short. Yas, sir, I bets on Mag. Why 
that gal kin chop ez much wood ez any man een 
the cove; an’ she kin stan’ flat-footed een her 
stockin’s an’ lift her own weight o’ corn; she 
kin jump a ten rail fence clean light an’ crack 
’er heels together three times afore she hits the 
groun’. I tell ye, that air a pow’ful gal — kim 
over.” 

Still more the mountaineer pitied the old man 


sow ZACS CAMS TO COSSSGS 


10^ 


and tlie more was sorry for the daughters who 
called him father. He thanked him, of course, 
for the cordial invitation, and, turning his face 
homeward, noticed that the sun had sunk behind 
the hills. 

Zach was saddened rather than amused at what 
he had heard, but consoled himself by the reflec- 
tion that, in the order of nature, the old man 
couldn’t remain many more years the veritable 
stumbling block of the community in which he 
lived. 

He had not gone far when he met a messenger 
riding “under whip and spur.” One of his 
pupils, a bright little fellow, had been thrown 
by a mule an hour before and was thought to 
be dying. 

“Come quick, Mr. Zach,” said the young 
man, “come quick. Johnnie’s been callin’ fur 
ye with uver’ breath, an’ maw’s pow’ful bruk up 
’bout it; she says fur God’s sake come ez quick 
ez ye kin. Jis’ ride Beck an’ I’ll walk,” and he 
slid off the withers of his iron-gray mule. 

The mountaineer threw his heavy leg across 


loS HOW ZACH CAME COEI.EBE 

the back of the little mule and, pressing his 
heels against her throbbing sides, was the next 
second racing toward the home of Edgar Kirby^ 
It was only a mile down Chestnut Ridge, and in 
a few minutes Zach was standing by the bed of 
the dying child. The mother was wild with 
grief, a half dozen neighbors were sobbing in 
sympathy around the bed on which the little 
fellow lay. The child was as pale as death and 
his eyes were closed, but Zach soon saw that he 
was still alive. Ascertaining the nature of the 
injuries, the teacher knew that they were fatal 
and that it was a matter of only a few minutes 
with the little sufferer. 

Feeling his pulse and gently stroking the thin, 
pale hand of the child, the sympathetic teacher 
said : 

‘‘Joffunie, do you know me?” 

“Yas, sir,” was the scarcely audible response, 
the child smiling faintly and opening his eyes 
for a second. 

“Will you say after me the words that I say, 
Johnnie?” 


HOW ZACH CAM]® COI,I,]®GK IO9 

“Yas, sir.” 

“Our Father. ” 

“Our Father.” 

“Have mercy on me.” 

“Have mercy on me.” 

“And save my soul in Heaven.” 

“And save my soul in Heaven.” 

“For Jesus’ sake.” 

“For Jesus’ sake.” 

“Amen.” 

“Amen.” 

The dying child looked once more into the 
eyes of his teacher, and, with an effort, said : 

“He’ll save me, Mr. Zach. I axed him to 
save me. I told him whut you said ’bout him 
at school. Here he is now.” 

A smile played over the little fellow’s face and 
— he was dead. 

That was an ungodly house, but the simple 
story of Jesus and His love, told so often at 
school, led the dying child to the foot of the 


cross. 


CHAPTER Xli. 


“Neither a borrower nor a lender be; 

For loan often loses both itself and friend; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.” 

— Shakespeare. 

Alow, again, Zach left college for a year to re- 
plenish his depleted purse. And it was 
duringthis “off year” that he had his severest 
trials. 

Whatever may be said of the inhabitants of the 
mountain regions of North Carolina, and how- 
ever amusing their vernacular may sound at 
times to the cultured ear, of one thing the reader 
may be sure: they are not all fools. 

They saw that Zach, their own neighbor, a 
mountain boy born and reared among them, was 
not the same rough young man that left them to 
go to college a few years before. They knew, — 
the most ignorant of them could see, — that he 
was a broader, deeper, stronger man; a man be- 
coming daily fuller of sympathy and love and 
better fitted for being something and doing some- 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO COI,I,KGH 


111 


thing in life. This, “all hands” admitted, but 
for that very thing, some people despised him. 
Verily, human nature is a strange thing. But 
Zach had his friends, staunch friends, men and 
women, who believe in helping the young man 
who helps himself. 

Beaver Dam Spring was a famous meeting 
place. Three quarters of a century ago the 
mountaineers met there to hear Fourth of July 
orations, to take part in “gander-pullings” to 
engage in target-shooting, to fill up on the 
purest of “mountain-dew” and to settle old dis- 
putes by stripping to the waist, entering a ring 
and fighting it out “fist and skull.” 

In the 70’s, political campaign meetings were 
held at this famous gathering place, and picnic 
parties assembled there, but “gander-pullings” 
were no longer indulged in, human nature itself 
at last revolting against the cruelly of the sport- 

When Zach announced on Tuesday that the 
school should have the next day as holiday on 
account of the campaign meeting at “Beaver 


II2 


HOW ZACH 'CAMH TO 


Dam,” there was general rejoicing, particularly 
on the part of the larger boys. 

Wednesday was an ideal day, and many hun- 
dreds of mountaineers of both sexes took advan- 
tage of it to go to Beaver Dam and see the folks 
and hear the news. It was a good-natured 
crowd; candidates were numerous and indus- 
trious, and after a few hours political excitement 
ran high. 

There were no issues among the candidates for 
the House of Representatives, so each candidate 
tried to win votes by being as pleasant as he 
could and saying the things the least objectiona- 
ble. 

Zach, “The Perfesser,” was a patient listener 
to everything that was said, — the wise and the 
unwise alike. 

Things went well until the last speaker, Zeb 
Vance Watts, concluded his speech. In the 
course of his remarks, he said: 

“Fellow citizens, as grand and glorious as our 
country is in her history and in her traditions, 
she would be infinitely grander and more glori- 


HOW ZACH CAMIO TO COI,I<EGB II3 

ous but for the contemptible fanaticism of some 
of her citizens. Our liberties have been taken 
from us one by one till after a while we shall be 
shorn of all our glory and strength, and become 
a pauper band with no will of our own and no 
power to execute it if we had it. Our fathers 
made their corn into liquor and drank and sold 
it at their pleasure. Now, you dare not do it 
for fear of being shot down like dogs by North- 
ern scoundrels called revenue officers. I believe 
that every man has the God-given right, and 
ought to have the legal right, to make every 
grain of his corn into liquor, if he sees fit, and 
sell it wherever he pleases.” 

More than one revenue officer had “bit the 
dust” in the neighborhood of Beaver Dam, and 
this play upon the prejudices of the auditors 
brought forth round after round of applause. 

‘‘Go it Watts, by gosh. I’ll vote fur ye,” cried 
a soggy moonshiner leaning against a tree hard 
by. 

Encouraged by this enthusiastic applause. 
Watts, the young barrister, threw his head and 


1 14 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

shoulders back, and, raising his voice till it pene- 
trated many of the mountain fastnesses con- 
tinued, “No, fellow citizens, this infernal reve- 
nue law, put upon us by white-livered Yankees, 
is a curse to our civilization. The blood of some 
of your own fathers and sons, shot down in cold 
blood by these revenue officers, cries out to you 
for vengeance.’’ 

Here the voice of the speaker was drowned by 
the thunderous applause, and he concluded it 
was a good time to take his seat. The applause 
at last subsiding, several enthusiastic admirers 
cried out: “We’ll send you, old boy. Hurrah 
for Watts!’’ 

Zeb Vance Watts felt that he had covered him- 
self with glory, and took his seat with an air 
that said: “I have captured the whole crowd.’’ 

Not so. Scarcely had the last echo of the tu- 
multuous applause died away down the valley, 
when a large, handsome man stepped upon the 
platform and asked permission of the chairman 
to make a few remarks. He was recognized at 
once as “Zach, the Perfesser,’’ and more than 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COSSSGS II5 

one said: “Hush, thar’s Zach; he’s gwine to 
speak.” 

“That’s right, Zach, talk it out!” exclaimed a 
half score of voices. 

The mountaineer, standing erect and with the 
muscles of his face twitching slightly, said in a 
strong, clear voice that rang out over that im- 
mense crowd : 

“My friends, I am no stranger to you. Born 
and reared among you, we have breathed the 
same fresh air, imbibed the same independent 
spirit and loved the same mountain scenery. 
You are my people and I belong to the people of 
Beaver Dam Cove; for that reason I claim the 
right to speak very plainly to you today.” 

“Hurrah for Zach! Tell it to us, Zach; tell 
it to us!^’ 

“I should not have opened my mouth, but for 
the speech made by Zebulon Vance Watts, Esq. 
Hearing that, I could not hold my peace without 
doing violence to my conscience, nor could I 
have kept silent and been true to your interests, 
or true to myself. 


Il6 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

“By that speech the gentleman brings re- 
proach upon the name of one of North Carolina’s 
most distinguished citizens. The Hon. Zebulon 
Vance would not own his namesake today, if he 
could hear such utterances fall from his lips. 

“I pity the man who, having learned a few 
things from books, concludes that all other 
people less favored than himself are soft-headed 
fools who may be led around by the nose by 
such a two-by-four lawyer as the Hon. Zebulon 
Vance Watts.” 

“Hurrah for our Zach!” “Tell it to him, 
Zach!” 

“The gentleman convicts himself of inexcusa- 
ble ignorance, or he attempts to play upon your 
passions and prejudices as if you were a set of 
ignoramuses. Let him take either horn of the 
dilemma. In the one case, he shows himself a 
fool; in the other, a knave.’’ 

Springing to his feet. Watts advanced a few 
steps toward the speaker and said in an excited 
way: 

“Do you mean to question my veracity, sir?’’ 


HOW ZACH CAMU TO COI/I^EGE II7 

Turning his eyes full upon the barrister and 
pointing his finger directly at him, Zach said in 
a calm, penetrating voice: 

‘ T mean to prove to this audience, sir, that 
you are either a fool or a knave; sit down and 
take your medicine like a man.’’ 

“Hurrah for Watts!” “Hurrah for Watts!” 
screamed his admirers. “Knock him off the 
stand, Watts; pull his nose!” 

Watts was not without his friends, by any 
means, nor was he a boy himself, balancing the 
scales as he did at 220. But Zach-’s fighting 
blood was stirred, and never was the sarcasm of 
Wendell Phillips more withering than the defiant 
manner of this son of the mountains. 

Watts took his seat, incurring thereby the dis- 
pleasure of his half-drunk henchmen. 

“This man has talked to you very glibly of 
how things used to be,” continued the moun- 
taineer. “He tells you that there was a time 
when our fathers made and .sold whiskey as 
freely as they drank in this mountain air. He 
might have told you there was a time when our 


Il8 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

fathers burnt witches at the stake — but do we 
do that now? He might have told you there was 
a time in the not distant past when our fathers 
just over there by that spring engaged in the 
fearful sport of gander-pulling — do we do that 
now? He might have told you there was a time 
when just over the hill there our fathers gambled 
for beef and mutton by shooting at a target — do 
we do it now? No, indeed. But why were these 
things not kept up? The times change and we 
change with them. As the years go by men be- 
come wiser and better, and we who live in the 
blazing light of the latter part of the 19th cen^ 
tury cannot approve of many things our fathers 
did. We honor their memories, emulate their 
virtues, but we do not propose to repeat their 
mistakes. 

“The manner in which you vote will test, not 
only your own patriotism, but your intelligence. 
We don’t boast of much culture in Beaver Dam 
Cove, but God knows that our men are just as 
brave and just as patriotic as ever donned the 
blue or the gray^ ^ud our wornep. ^re just gs pure 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COI^I^EGS II9 

as the ‘icicles that hang on Dian’s temple.’ I 
see among you men who followed I^ee and Jack- 
son with unfaltering tread. You have no apology 
for what you did, but when the sun of the 
Southern Confederacy was set, you laid down 
your arms and swore allegiance to the flag of our 
common country. I knew but little of my brave 
father who sleeps in a soldier’s grave in Virginia, 
but I believe if he were here today he would de- 
nounce the sentiment of the gentleman who seeks 
your votes by an attempt to arouse your preju- 
dices and keep up the bitter feelings existing 
between the two sections of our great country.” 

“Hurrah for Jim Whetstone! Hurrah for our 
Captain!” 

This allusion to Captain Jim Whetstone was 
more than the old soldiers could stand. No 
more recklessly brave man than Jim Whetstone 
ever followed Wade Hampton to battle. This 
outburst of tumultuous applause was a voluntary 
tribute to the memory of the brave Confederate, 
and the honest, simple-minded veterans that 
looked into the face of the speaker before them 


120 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO COI^I^KGE 


knew that he was the ‘^worthy son of a worthy 
sire,” and that he would fight for truth and right 
and sobriety with just as dauntless courage as 
was ever displayed by the gallant Captain on the 
bloodiest battle-field. . 

But Zach’s courage was to be tested. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“Strength, and the consciousness of 
strength, in a right-hearted man, imparts 
a nobleness to his character; but he will 
be most careful how he uses it ; for 


‘ It is excellent 


To have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant.’ ’’ — SamueI/ SmiIvKS. 



FTKR SO completely routing Zebulon Vance 


^ ^ Watts at the campaign meeting, Zach was 
the hero of Beaver Dam Cove. Old men who had 
known and loved his father predicted for the 
young “Perfesser” a great future. They could 
see the fearlessness of the father in the son, and 
could conceive of no higher type of manhood. 
Old ladies were enthusiastic in their praises of 
the young man, and the girls looked askance at 
Katie Tangford ; while the young men were 
divided into two groups — the one admiring, the 
other despising the companion of their boyhood 
days who had grown away from them — above 
them — since the day he first entered college. 


122 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

In the old days every county in North Carolina 
had its “bully;” and in some counties that dig- 
nitary has not yet “passed.” His proud distinc- 
tion is to be able to throw down and “lick” 
every other man in his county. In the early 70’s 
Mike Dixon was the bully of Rutherford County. 

Joel Samiter was a country dude. He was 
rather slender, had the countenance of a fox, 
wore a red cravat, a “biled shirt,” parted his hair 
in the middle, and tugged constantly at a wee bit 
of a moustache that vainly struggled for exist- 
ence. He kept a little country store, too — this 
man Samiter — and sold “manifac” tobacco, real 
“manifac,” a few Virginia cheroots, and an occa- 
sional hank of yarn to some good housewife who 
needed it in weaving her winter’s supply of cloth. 
He was not accused of selling whisky, but it was 
noticed that the moonshiners of the Cove were 
fond of gathering at his place of business. 

Samiter was a great ladies’ man, called him- 
self “the smasher,” and dangled more than one 
mountain lassie’s scalp at his belt. He was a 
political heeler, too; was a bitter, scheming par- 
tisan, and was courted and flattered by local 
politicians. 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLEEGE 


123 


Being an ardent admirer of Zebulon Vance 
Watts, Samiter felt cliagrinned by the drubbing 
given that gentleman by the “Perfesser” at the 
campaign meeting, and swore by all that was 
good and bad to humiliate the teacher. 

But Watts’ defeat was not the only grudge 
Samiter had against Zach: Katie Langford had 
snubbed ‘‘the smasher” the Sunday before, and 
now the “Perfesser” must be humiliated. 

“Now I’ve got it, by gosh!” said Joel Samiter 
to himself one afternoon, after sitting for a long 
time in a brown study. “Now I’ve got it, and 
I’ll have my revenge.” 

Without further soliloquy Samiter saddled his 
horse and rode five miles to Bill Cartlet’s. 

The sun was just setting behind the hills when 
Cartlet, with his axe on his shoulder, crossed the 
road just in front of his cabin. 

“Hello, Bill, ole fellow, how you wuz? Whar 
you bin down dar wid dat axe on your shoulder, 
pertendin’ like you pow’ful industr’ous?” 

Samiter was not a native of ihe Cove, or of the 
county, and had enjoyed considerably better edu- 


T24 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


cational advantages than his friends and patrons, 
but he was a good judge of human nature, and 
could drop into the vernacular of Beaver Dam 
with the greatest possible ease. 

‘‘Hello, yo’self, Joel; I’m doin’ toler’ble ’cepin’ 
I’m monst’us tired,” drolled out Bill Cartlet, at 
the same time biting off a fresh chew from his 
twist of home-raised tobacco. 

‘‘Whut you bin doin’ wid dat axe. Bill?’’ 

‘‘Jist a choppin’ down some dead trees over 
thar in de new groun’ I cleared las’ year.’’ 

‘‘Dat’s so; I heeard you wus a-gwine ter have a 
log-rollin’ soon; is dat right?” 

‘‘Yes, dat’s right; I wus jist a thinking ’bout 
p’ intin’ nex’ Wednesday week and axin’ the 
boys to come in and gi’ me a lift.” 

“Now, Billy, old boy, dat’s jis whut I come 
to see you ’bout,” said Joel in his sweetest tones, 
dismounting the while from his frisky pony. ‘‘I 
heeard you wuz gwine to have a rollin’, and I 
jis come over to chat you ’bout it, bein’s I 
knowed you speck’in’ ter invite me, you an’ me 
bein’ sich good friends. You see, Billy, I want 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


125 


you to have the log-rollin’ on Sadday stiddier 
Wednesday.” 

“And whut fur?” said Cartlet. 

“Cause, you see — well, Billy — well, I’ll jist 
have ter let you in ter de secret. You an’ me is 
good friends an’ I know you’ll stand. I’ve got a 
plan.” 

“Well, whut is it?” 

“Set down here on this log an’ I’ll tell ye. 
You know, you an’ me an’ some the yuther boys 
wus powerful tupk back t’other day when Zach 
chawed up Zeb Watts jes lak he did. Dat alb 
fired speech wus the thing whut beat Watts in 
the ’lection. Sho as Betsy’s my gal, dat done 
the work, and I want ter git even wid Zach. 
Nuther thing: that gal er hisern, dat stuck up 
Katie lyangford, gi’ me de cole shoulder las’ 
Sunday, and I want ter make her feel bad. So 
I want you to have your rollin’ on Sadday an> 
invite the teacher.” 

“Well, howde devil is dat goin’ ter git even 
wid him, or mek the little gal feel bad?’’ 

“Now look er here. Bill, this betwixt me an’ 


/ 


126 HOW ZACH CAME TO COI,I,EGB 

you, an’ ter go no furder. You invite Mike 
Dixon and I’m goin to hire Mike to pick a fuss 
wid de Perfesser and lick him, by gosh! How’s 
that?” 

“Dat’ll do very well,” drolled Cartlet, squirt- 
ing the yellow spittle through his fingers. ‘ ‘Dat'll 
do very well, providin’ Mike kin lick him.’’ 

“lyickhim! My gosh, man, isn’t Dixon the 
bully of the Cove?” asked Joel, excitedly, losing 
for the time the vernacular of the neighborhood. 

“Yes, but he ain’t never tackled Zach Whet- 
stone. Joel, did you see Zach’s eyes when he 
spoke at the meetin’? Now I don’t know every- 
thing, but I knows some things. That man will 
fight, an’ he’s a powerful man. They tell me he 
jist lak his daddy, and the old soldiers say the 
old Captain was a tiger in a fight. They say he 
never let up, but jist shot his eyes and hilt on 
till the other fellow hollowed, ‘calf -rope’.” 

‘ ‘Dat makes no diffunce, ’ ’ said Joel. ‘ ‘You ax 
Mike Dixon, an’ he’ll sho make Zach tote his 
cotton.” 

”0, I’ll ax him; certainny. I’ll ax him,” said 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLI^EGE 1^7 

Cartlet. ax him, beca’se I don’t object to 

seein’ a little wool-pullin’ myself.” 

“Alright, Bill, alright, old fellow. And you’ll 
p’int Sadday week as the day.’’ 

“Yes; Sadday week.” 

“Good boy! good night, Billy!” and Joel flung 
himself into his saddle, and giving free rein to 
the restless Mustang, galloped over the hill, 
dreaming of his own revenge and Zach’s humilia- 
tion. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


S ATURDAY week dawned clear and bright. 

About thirty neighbors gathered early to help 
Bill Cartlet roll his logs. Zach, the “Perfesser” 
was among them, for though within one year of 
graduation and now regarded the best educated 
man in the cove, he was not above lending a 
helping hand to a neighbor as he had done from 
his youth up. 

At that time, in that region, the “corn-shuck- 
ing” and the “log-rolling” were to the men what 
the “quilting” was to the women. From a busi- 
ness point of view, these gatherings were bene- 
ficial to individuals, and socially were very help- 
ful to all concerned. 

At the “log-rollings,” many a test of strength 
was made, for pulling at the “hand-stick” was 
the favorite method of measuring one’s muscles. 
To be able to pull one’s mate to his knees while 
lifting a heavy log was prima facie evidence of 
superior physical strength. In those days before 


HOW ZACH CAMH TO C01vI.KGE 


129 


the railroads had penetrated the mountain regions, 
carrying with them the saw-mill, lumber was 
“no object,” to express it in the language of the 
mountaineer; and when a clearing was made, the 
only thing that could be done with the timber 
was to pile the logs into great heaps and burn 
them. 

When men entered the field to pile these logs, 
they were paired generally according to size. So 
at Cartlet’s log-rolling, by common consent, 
Zach was paired with Mike Dixon, the “bully. 

It was a pair of powerful men. Dixon was a few 
pounds heavier, but both were muscular and 
agile as cats. 

Many a heavy log yielded to the touch of the 
two giants, and in a few hours, the well-matched 
pair became objects of special interest to the en- 
tire crowd. At one time, the teacher succeeded 
in putting one knee of the Irishman on the 
ground. Mike claimed that he was fouled, but 
in the judgment of the witnesses, it was fairly 
done and w^as so declared. There was nothing 
for Mike to do but accept their judgment. He 


130 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


yielded, but uttered one or two bitter oaths and 
leaned to his hand-stick again. 

The contest was now exciting. Men left their 
own log-heaps to come and watch the two big 
fellows. 

Joel Samiter was greatly excited and offered 
to bet his horse against the “mangiest calf in the 
cove” that the Irishman would pull the teacher 
down before night. 

“I’ll take that bet,” said Uncle Joe Morrow, a 
very old man who came, not to assist in the 
work, but just to watch the young men exhibit 
their strength. “I’ll take that bet, young man. 
You’ll never see it done.” 

“Took out thar, you scoundrel, and keep off 
my toe!” It was Mike Dixon who spoke, and 
he was looking into the eyes of his mate, the 
teacher, who stood just beyond the log at the 
other end of his hand-stick. 

“I beg your pardon,” .said Zach calmly. “I 
didn’t mean to step on your toe, of course.” 

“You are a liar,” said the Irishman, “yoi; 

4one it on purpose,” 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE I3I 

“Mr. Dixon,” said the mountaineer quietly, 
“I am sorry you said that, and unless you apolo- 
gize for it I shall make you sorry.” 

“Apologize? Apologize to you, you son of a 

Zach turned a little pale and then said with a 
slight tremor in his voice : 

“Now, then, sir it’s too late; you can’t apolo 
gize. You’ve got to fight me.” 

“Fair fight, gentlemen, fair fight!” cried 
several, and Billy Cartlet proceeded to make a 
ring about fifteen feet in diameter. 

A fight at a corn-shucking or a log-rolling was 
not an uncommon thing; so all the other men 
gathered round the ring while the two giants 
walked into the center. It w^as a great fight and 
destined to bring many surprises to that group 
of simple-hearted mountaineers. 

Dixon had plenty of pluck; he really liked the 
business. He forced the fighting for a while, 
Zach guarding easily and cautiously, and hitting 
him on the nose just hard enough to draw a little 


132 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


blood and just often enough to keep him fighting 
furiously. 

Gradually there came over the Irishman’s 
face a look of amazement; he ceased forcing the 
fight and for a moment stood facing his opponent 
For the first time he had met his match. 

“Now, Dixon, will you apologize?” said the 
teacher, lowering his arms. 

“No: you, I won’t!” he answered quickly. 

Dixon was an Irishman, and would rather die 
than acknowledge defeat. 

“Then I shall hurt you,” said Zach, and suit- 
ing his actions to his words, he struck him one, 
two, three terrific blows, and put the Irishman 
on his back. 

The mountaineer folded his arms across his 
breast and waited till his dazed antagonist stag- 
gered to his feet. 

“Will 5^ou apologize now?” he asked again. 

“No; damn you!” was the stubborn reply. 

“Then look out,” said Zach; and the next 
instant the spectators saw Mike’s feet in the air 
and his toes quivering. 


HOW ZACH CAMR TO COI,I,®GE 


133 


*‘Foul play!” shrieked Samiter, and leaped 
into the ring with a long, keen-bladed knife in 
his hand. 

“Stop, thar!’’ It was I^uther Satterwhite 
looking along the barrel of an old Colt’s revolver. 
“Yon jist hold up, Joel, or I’ll let the day light 
thoo you.” 

Luther was one of the big boys in Beaver 
Dam school and loved his teacher. Samiter 
knew the reputation of the lad and staggered 
back to his place around the ring. 

“He’d apologize now, Zachie, ef he could, but 
he’ll never do it in this world, for in my judg- 
ment, he’s passed in his checks.” 

It was Uncle Joe Morrow who spoke. He had 
seen many a fight, but never one “done so nice 
as that.” 

“Fling a leetle water in Mike’s face thar, boys, 
mebbe he’ll come all right arter awhile,” con- 
tinued the old man. 

“I didn’t mean to hit him quite so hard,” said 
the mountaineer, “I hope he’ll soon be better.’’ 

Dixon groaned heavily. The teacher’s counte- 


134 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEKGE 


nance brightened, and, looking down into the 
face of his antagonist, he said: “Gentlemen, I 
am sorry I had to do this, — the poor fellow is 
suffering.” 

The fight broke up the log-rolling. Dixon 
pulled through and went home a wiser man, and 
Joel Samiter, instead of getting revenge was him- 
self disgusted and humiliated beyond measure. 

Zach disliked such notoriety as that day’s 
work would give him, but consoled himself with 
the thought that no self-respecting man could 
submit to such insulting language. Down in 
the mountaineer’s heart, he was glad that during 
the previous year he had spent so many of his 
recreation hours taking boxing lessons from a 
bosom friend and classmate. Dixon was as 
powerful as Zach, and as game as Caesar, but 
Zach’s scientific blows knocked the Irishman out' 
and opened the eyes of all who saw them, 


CHAPTER XV. 


OuNDAY morning dawned clear and gray, and 
long before preaching time a great crowd of 
men, women and children had gathered at the 
church to discuss, recuss, and cuss the all-absorb- 
ing incident of the day before. 

The average human being, whatever his stage 
of civilization, glories in a fight, and the inhabi- 
tants of Horse Foot were no exception to the 
rule. To lick Dixon, “the cock o’ the walk,’’ 
“the county bully,” in a fair fight, “fist and 
skulf,” was an achievement calculated to put 
one’s name on every tongue. 

Zach regretted the occurrence, but he had no 
apologies to make. His notoriety was particu' 
larly embarrassing to him, when he walked up 
to the church and saw all eyes turned toward 
himself. And Zach knew, too, that in spite of 
the protestations of friendship made by so many 
of his neighbors after the memorable campaign 
meeting, there were many who would have been 


T36 HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 

glad deep down in their hearts to see Dixon knock 
him out. He knew, too, that on that church 
yard there were two factions, one, possibly the 
smaller, in full sympathy with all his efforts to 
improve himself and benefit the community; the 
other, the younger element, envious and jealous, 
and wishing him evil and only evil since he 
openly avowed his opposition to what they con- 
sidered their most sacred right — the making and 
selling of “mountain dew.” 

On the Eastern slope of Bald Mountain, known 
as “De Ball” by the denizens of its fastnesses, is 
a notorious cave. For many, many years, this 
cave was the home of wild beasts, as nature in' 
tended, and continued to be till wilder man drove 
them out and took possession for his own un- 
lawful purposes. For more than fifty years, in 
one of its recesses, moonshiners had distilled their 
corn and apples. It was difficult of access, rock- 
ribbed and approachable only on one side. More 
than one officer of the law, having run the gaunt- 
let and raided “the still,” “bit the dust” before 
he had reached the plains below. Jake Ilderton 


HOW ZACH came; to coi,i.ege 


137 

inherited the cave and the still with all their 
bloody traditions from Steve Ilderton, his father, 
who fell at the hands of “de revenue” while 
fighting for his own, just five years before. And 
it was Jake’s own bullet that pierced the heart 
of the successful raider that moonlit night while 
he passed “de clump o’ laurel jest beyant de 
bridge over lyittle Beaverdam. ” Jake was con- 
sidered a desperate character, four men having 
fallen at the bidding of “long Tom,” his rifle. 
But Jake was kind hearted. He was passionately 
fond of children, reverenced what he called 
‘ ‘ ’oman kind,” and would die for “truth and 
jestis’’ anywhere and any when. “I’ve got no 
usen,” he often said, “fur a dowled coward er a 
sneak; I loves the open truth and a fa’r fight 
uver time.” 

’Twas Saturday night. The weather was 
warm and a half dozen mountaineers sat around 
on the heads of barrels and kegs as far as they 
could get from the heat of the still and yet within 
range of flickering rays of light given out by a 
sputtering, odoriferous, brass lamp. Among 


138 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

the loungers who had gathered to discuss the 
news of the week and to sample the latest output 
of apple-jack, were Joe Davis and Joel Samiter. 

Three weeks had come and gone since the 
great log-rolling which came vSO near ending in a 
tragedy in which Zach, the teacher, had played 
so prominent a part. Samiter was sore yet over 
the defeat of Zeb Vance Watts, and sorer still 
over the lickin’ Dixon, the bully, got at the log- 
rolling. Usually talkative, he was tonight quiet 
and meditative. 

Davis was a small man with little Wblfish eyes, 
dull, sandy hair that hung down over his shoul- 
ders, and a disgusting yellow beard, every end 
of which seemed to turn back upon its root as 
if endeavoring to hide itself, out of pure shame, 
and giving the face an appearance not unlike 
that of a yellow, frizzled chicken. . His long, 
bony nose was out of plumb; it seemed to hang 
on one side of his face as if knocked out of joint 
by coming in too close contact with some man’s 
fist. His upper teeth protruded so that he could 
not, under any circumstances, close his lips. 


HOW ZACH CAME COLLEGE 


139 


There, surrounded by granite walls, in the dim, 
flickering, uncertain light of the brass lamp, he 
made a picture long to be remembered. To make 
up for the many things of which she deprived 
the unfortunate fellow, nature gave him an extra- 
long tongue. Davis talked too much. 

A little farther than the others from the red- 
hot door of the furnace was one man lying flat 
on his back on the dirt floor of the cave. Mus- 
cular and brawny was he, and lay with hands 
clasped under his head, while the stem of a cob 
pipe hung between his teeth, and clouds of smoke 
came from his lips in lazy, indifferent puffs. 
Jake Ilderton, king of Horse Foot Cove, laughed 
“in his sleeves” at the picture before him, and 
wondered, “whut een de name o’ God was sich 
a lookin’ thing ez Joe Davis put een dis wurl fur 
nohow?” 

Bach man “slept on his arms,” as it were, for 
a rumor had been afloat for ten days that the 
raiders were on the war path and might be ex- 
pected any night to make a swoop on Horse Foot 
still. According to the ethics of the cove, no 


140 HOW ^ACH CAME 1^0 COEEEGE 

man was expected to visit the still unless he was 
willing to defend it against all raiders and die 
for it if need be. 

Every phase of the report was discussed, ^expe- 
riences exchanged, and incidents of many previ- 
ous raids were told and retold until long after 
midnight. All had heard that raiders were 
astir, but not one could give the name of the in- 
former, and that seemed to be of more interest to 
the party than the fact that a raid was imminent. 
In Horse Foot Cove, the unwritten law was, 
“The informer must die.” 

“I dassent say fur sartin,’’ said Joe Davis, 
kicking the side of a barrel on which he sat, “I 
dassent say fur sartin, but I’s jest bleeged ter 
b’lieve dat de teacher is de man what gin de still 
away. I bleeged ter think it. Ye see, two year 
ago and leetle better, when De Ball wus a-shakin’ 
and folks was skeerdt outen der shoes, a great 
big man and a lot o’ yuther fellers kim up here 
fum suraus down een de fiat. Dey called daselves 
students an’ pertended to be zaminin ‘De Ball’; 
dey stuck sumpin een de springs, and pecked on 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEOB 14 1 

de rocks and medjured de hills, an’ Zach kim 
’long wid ’em an’ showed ’em uver whar. Folks 
didn’t lak it den kase Zack was wid ’em peekin’ 
’round de mounting. Some uv ’em ’lowed den 
Zach wus agwine too fur. He des nachily 
covorted ’round de mounting p’ intin’ out uver- 
thing.” 

In the early 70’s, Bald Mountain did behave 
in such a manner as to frighten the mountain- 
eers. Dishes were rattled and broken and strange 
rumbling noises were heard. Prof. Warren 
DuPre, of Wofford College, took his class in 
Geology to visit the mountain, and spent several 
days examining the rocks and springs. 

“Some ’lowed de whole bilin uv ’em,” con- 
tinued Davis, “wus jes a-lookin’ out fur de 
smoke o’ de still.’’ 

“Den agin, Zach’s gittin too all-fired smart. 
He don’t talk lak we-uns no more. He wants 
uverbody to go to church and Sunday School. 
Ye know he tuk up a Sunday School ’bout a 
mont’ ago an’ he wants uverbody to jine. He 
gits up an’ talks, he do. He says sat stiddier 


I42 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COI,I,EGK 


sot an’ all sich ez that. I tell ye he air a bad 
aig. Some says he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothin’. 
He pertends ter be pow’ful ’ligious. Meks a 
prar ez long ez fum here ter de eend uv de cave. 
I went over las’ Sunday.” 

“Did he do you enny good, Joe?” interrupted 
one. 

“Me? no; how de devil ye spec him ter do me 
enny good?” 

“Dat so, sense me; I spec hit’d strain de Lord 
hisself to do good ter sich a critter ez you is.’’ 
Then a hearty laugh at Joe’s expense. 

“Ge’mens, you oughter bin thar ter hear Miss 
Flennigin lambast Zach. ‘Zachie,’ she ’lowed, 
T wus glad whenst ye tuk up the Sunday School, 
an’ hit did do my ole heart good so long ez ye 
teached the childurn ’bout the Lord and sich; 
but now whenst ye git ter tellin’ ’em ’bout 
obeyin’ de law and bein’ good and keepin’ sober, 
I hain’t no furder use fer ye — I’m agin ye.’ ” 

“Old Zach ’lowed, ‘Why, Miss Flennigin, 
don’t you want the childurn teached to be good 
and obey the law?’ ” 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COl^lVEGB 


145 


“An’ what did she say?” 

“lyord, mua, you oughter seed her eyes. She 
jes rated back on her hunkers, she did, and she 
’lowed, ‘No, sar, narry time; not sich laws ez 
we-uns hez. Don’t you know ez how my daddy 
wuz kilt by the revenues, and does you spec me 
ter teach my childurn to ’bey de law arter dat? 
No, sir; an’ ef I wus jes a man I would mek you 
stop sich teachin’ ez this, er I’d show ye.’ ” 

“An’ whut did Zach say?” 

“Gosh, man, he turned jes ez red ez a beet, he 
did, an’ he ’lowed: ‘Miss Flennigin, ye air a 
’oman, an’ kin say whut you please; I can’t holp 
myself. If ye wus a man, you wouldn’t. I’m 
agin stillin’ an^ I’m agin law-breakin’. I’m gwine 
ter teach the childurn to ’bey the law an’ let 
liquor ’lone.’ ” 

“Boys, sho ez ye air born, Zach air the man we 
air arter. Jest say the word,’’ patting the long, 
blue barrel of his rifle, “an’ I shall put ’im ter 
sleep.” 

“Waal, do it, Joe; do it afore another Sat’day 
night.” 


i44 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COTTEGE 


“Dat’s right,” seconded two or three. 

“Shet yo’ durned mouths, ye set o’ white-livered 
cowards. Here ye be a plannin’ fer ter kill a man 
jes beca’se he air got the grit ter stan’ up and tel^ 
ye whut he b’lieves air right. Shame on ye, ye 
cowardly curs. ’ ’ 

It was Jake Ilderton who spoke, and he was 
now leaning on one elbow and shaking his fist at 
the men who had listened so patiently to Davis’s 
harangue. 

“An you, Joe Dkvis,” he continued, “ye dinged 
little measley skeeter, Zach kin tek ye atwixt 
his fingers and blow ye over de Ball, be he mind 
ter. Ye aint no bigger’n a jay bird, but ye kin 
mek ez much fuss wi’ that thar bill o’ yourn ez ef 
ye wus a woodpecker shor nuff. Say another 
word, ye mis’r’ble little b’iled owl, an’ I’ll chuck 
ye head fo’most into this here furnis.” 

Jake Ilderton was king in Horse Foot Cove; 
his ipse dixit was law. Joe Davis had no more 
to say. 

“Now, listen, you fellers,’’ continued Ilderton 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COLSEGS 1 45 

— after refilling his pipe — “listen ter me, and I’ll 
tell ye sumpin: 

“I beam this report. So las’ Sat’ day I got to 
thinkin’ ’bout it, an’ I jes thunk ’bout it till I 
got desprit. I thunk ’bout that night when pap 
wus kilt, an’ I jes mounted my horse an’ rid out 
cross kintry thar hopin’ an’ a-prayin’ I mout 
meet some revenue sneakin’ ’round. I wanted 
^er kill somebody. I kim in sight o’ Zach’s. I 
jes says, ‘Well, I’ll ride over and see Zach, an 
ef ihe don’t talk right I’ll put a eend ter him.’ 
Zach wus plantin’ turnip seeds. I says, ‘Good 
evenin’.’ 

“Zach ’lowed, ‘Why, howdy, Jake; I’m glad 
ter see yer; light. ’ 

“I says, ‘No, I hain’t time — come terde fence, 
Zach.’ He kim. 

“ ‘Now,’ says I, ‘I haVe hearn that the raiders 
air aroun’ an’ that ye air the informer, I kim 
over ter find out if dat is true.’ 

“I jes hilt my han’ on my pistol, an’ hit cocked, 
an’ Zach seed me but he nuver flickered; he jes 


146 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


zackly looked me square een the eye. Den he 
’lowed : 

“ ‘Now, look a-here, Jake, air you crazy? 
Don’t you know I don’t drink liquor? Air I uver 
bin ter your still? I don’t know whar it is. 
How kin I inform whar it is? No, Jake, dat ain’t 
my business. I'm agin liquor, an’ agin makin’ 
it, but my work is ter teach the childurn to let it 
alone, an’ arter awhile there’ll be none o’ it made. 
Now, Jake, ef you wants ter shoot me fer dat, jes 
drap in your little pills here fast ez 5"ou please. ’ 
An’ he jes nachily pulled open his shirt bosom an’ 
hilt it open an’ looked me square in the eye. 

“I knowed the man wus a-telling the truth, an’ 
I jes nachily tuk my han’ off my gun, an’ says, 
‘Sense me, Zach, I mout knowed ’twus a lie. So 
menny people hev laid it on ye, I jes ’eluded I’d 
drap een an’ ax ye.’ 

‘ ‘I tell ye, boys, a man whut the childurn lays 
sich store by can’t be a informer. Bless your 
soul, my little Dorinda jes thinks her teacher is 
nachily debes’ man onde yearth, an’ thar’sDuther 
Satterwhite says Zach is a born gen’ man. Guess 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEKGE 


147 


you ’members I^utber, don’t you, Joel ? De bes’ 
grit een de Cove, ef he is jis a boy.” 

Jake had not mentioned this interview before, 
being heartily ashamed of even suspecting the 
teacher; but now felt constrained to talk of it and 
to use the harsh language he did when he heard 
his companions planning to kill the best man in 
the neighborhood. 

Day was breaking when the crowd dispersed. 
Davis was smarting under the language used by 
Jake Ilderton. Nudging Samiter, at the mouth 
of the cave, he said, holding up his long rifle: 
“Joel, she kin talk jes ez strong ez Jake — lay 
low.’’ 


CHAPTER XVI. 


■j^ ONDAY MORNING early found Joe Davis crawl- 
^ ing over logs and rocks, picking his way 
through underbrush toward the road leading from 
Zach’s home to the school house. Taking ad" 
vantage of the rumor current, he determined to 
“put Zach to sleep,” despite the cursing he go^ 
rom Jake. At eight o’clock Zach passed within 
ange of his rifle. Joe raised his gun, but his 
hand trembled, and he lowered the piece without 
touching the trigger. He cursed himself for a 
coward, and the next morning, having selected 
another position, repeated the effort with the 
same result. Now, thoroughly disgusted with 
himself, he determined to make one more attempt. 
So in the afternoon of the next day, he squatted 
behind a huge chestnut tree over who.se root^ 
Zach would walk on his return home after school. 

The shouts and laughter of the children as they 
made their way over the hills and across the val- 
leys, informed him that school was out. Nervous 


HOW ZACH CAMS TO COSSSGS 


149 


and excited, he clutched his rifle and looked in- 
tently through an opening in the laurel through 
which he expected to shoot the teacher. 

The murderous intent of the assassin was so 
great that he neglected the opening in his rear 
and knew not that anyone was near him until the 
cracking of a dry stick turned his eyes like a 
flash behind him. There, within six feet of him 
and looking with astonishment upon him, was 
Katie Langford. 

Joe’s embarrassment was pitiable. A flash of 
lightning from that clear sky would not have 
disturbed him so. 

“What in the world are 3^011 doing here, Mr. 
Davis?” asked the astonished girl. 

“O, good evenin’, Miss Katie; how does 
you-uns do?” 

“What are you doing here, sir?” she de- 
manded. 

“O, I jes heeard a turkey gobble, and wus jes 
a-watchin’ here ter see ef I couldn’t git a crack 
at him.” 

The indignant girl said no more, but walked 


T50 HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 

by him with a glance that said, “I know your 
little game, and I’ve spoiled it.*’ And she had. 
Katie kept the path for a hundred yards and 
stepped out into the public road where she had 
promised to meet Zach and go across the ridge to 
visit a mutual friend. Davis sneaked off through 
the laurel toward the hovel he called his home, 
and, gritting his teeth, declared with an oath that 
Providence didn’t intend to have a hair of the 
teacher “toch.” 

Katie was trembling with excitement when 
Zach took her hand in his. She told him quickly, 
almost breathlessly, of her discovery, and urged 
him to take steps at once to have the would-be 
assassin arrested and incarcerated as a precau- 
tionary measure. 

Zach laughed at the girl’s agitation, but 
assured her that the danger was now past. 
“Davis,” said he, “is a contemptible little 
coward, mean enough to shoot me from ambush, 
and he is no doubt hired by some other scoundrel 
to do that; but now that he has been discovered 
in the very effoyt to^ do the dirt^y deed, he dare 













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HOW ZACH CAM 15 TO COLI^EGE 151 

not go farther. Your coming, however, Katie, 
was indeed providential. Joe -Davis is a sneak, 
and, I believe, for one silver dollar, would kill his 
best friend. But, though very low in the scale 
of humanity, he is no fool, and I shall have no 
more trouble from him.” 

The trembling girl, grateful for her providen- 
Aial coming, dropped her head on the shoulder of 
her lover and sobbed like a child. Zach kissed 
her tears away and led her off toward the home 
of their friend. 

That evening when Zach left his sweetheart on 
the steps at her father’s door, he asked her to go 
with him on Saturday afternoon to visit the 
family of Jake Ilderton. 

Said he, ‘T believe Mrs. Ilderton is a good 
woman: her children are so neat, and clean, and 
polite. No one but a good mother could send 
from her home such children as those. As a 
teacher, I want to know all I can about the homes 
of my pupils.” Katie was delighted to accom- 
pany him, but would not let him leave her that 


152 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

night without a promise to keep a sharp eye out 
for Joe Davis. 

Mrs. Ilderton was not expecting company Sat- 
urday afternoon, but everything was neat and 
tidy. The very chairs had been scoured that 
morning, and every particle of the inexpensive 
furniture, touched here and there by a gentle 
woman’s hands, was inviting. 

The large, old-fashioned fire-place was filled 
with evergreens, and old Steve Ilderton ’s clock 
stood in the corner and lazily ticked off the fleet- 
ing moments. A picture of George Washington 
hung over the front door, and one of Andrew 
Jackson over the door leading to the kitchen. 
The milk “piggin” and the churn, faultlessly 
clean, stood inverted on a shelf just outside the 
kitchen door. The children, little Jake and 
Dorinda, were clean and neatly attired, and vied 
with each other in welcoming “de teacher and 
Miss Kate. ” Jake Ilderton “happened in’’ a few 
minutes after the arrival of the guests and joined 
heartily with his wife and little ones in giving 
them welcome. 


1 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLEEOE 


153 


During the afternoon Jake and Zach walked 
out to look at Jake’s “turnip patch.” “Datslipe 
o’ Ian’ over thar,” said the host, “I’m gwine ter 
fix fur a brag piece o’ wheat. I wants ter hev a 
ten rail fence put ’round it, an’ den haul out on it 
sixty loads o’ stable manure. Does ye reckin I 
could git ole Jack ter do dat work fur me?” he 
asked. 

“No; Uncle Jack is suffering with rheumatism. 
He can’t do a lick o’ work now. My school will 
close next Friday. After that I should be very 
glad to do your work for you, Jake.” 

“Why, Zach, is ye jokin’? I knowed ye didn’t 
mind splittin’ rails, but I ’lowed ye hed sholy got 
above scatterin’ manure,” said Jake. 

‘‘No, indeed; not if there is an honest dollar in 
it. I’m not afraid to do any kind of work that’s 
honorable. I need all the money I can get. I 
must go back to college again before long. I’ll 
do that work for you and do it well and as cheap 
as anybody.” 

“Waal, sir, I’m jest powerful glad to git ye^ 
Zach; I kin git a han’ fur fifty cents a day, but 


154 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGB 


I’ll jes adzackly gi’ ye seventy-five cents a day 
and board ye. I’ll jest do that very thing — whut 
says ye?” 

“Just my dinner,” said Zach. “I vShall be 
obliged to take care of mother at night, so I’ll 
get breakfast and supper at home.” 

“All right,” said Jake. “Ef that suits ye, hit 
suits me; but the wittles is here fer ye, Zach, an’ 
ye air more’n welcome.’’ 

“Then look for me soon Monday morning week 
to begin work,’’ said Zack. And the tw^o returned 
to the house. 

After a pleasant afternoon the visitors turned 
their faces homeward. Jake excelled himself in 
his efforts to show them that he appreciated their 
visit. Dorinda flung a kiss at Zach as he turned 
to close the gate, and then said to her mother: 
“Mamma, I do wush you could hear Mr. Zach 
prayin’ fur we-uns uver mornin’ at school.” 

“Do he pray fur we-uns honey?” 

“Yes, mam, he do. He prays fur uverbody.” 

“I knowed he wus a good man, but I didn’t 
s’pose he tuk time to pray fur we-uns.” An^ 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COtt^GE 


155 


with tear dimmed eyes the mother turned her face 
toward the kitchen. 

Mrs. Ilderton was a pale-faced little woman 
without culture, but with the bounding, throbbing 
heart of a devoted mother; a heart that knew 
“its own sorrow. ” A pleasant smile flitted across 
her face at intervals, but underneath it and back 
of all her efforts to appear cheerful, there was an 
indefinable something that told of unacknowl- 
edged heartaches, of a sorrow that must be 
buried in one’s own heart and burn itself out in 
a single life. 

Zach was accustomed to study human nature 
closely. During the afternoon he had diagnosed 
this case successfully. 

Mrs. Ilderton had, at the age of fifteen, “run- 
off’'^ from her parents and married Jake Ilderton, 
a well-known, much-dreaded young moonshiner. 
Jake had been kind to her — as kind as he knew 
how to be. Their first four children were buried 
near the base of the big boulder overlooking the 
spring— the two little ones were left to Jake and 
his Margaret. 


IS6 HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 

“Mrs. Ilderton’s face is a study,” said Zach to 
Katie, as they walked homeward. “She has 
buried four children, I know, but that fact will 
not account for that look of hers — she has a living 
trouble. She is a Christian, and devoted to he^ 
children and craves a better life for them. I 
believe it is Jake’s life that’s drying up her heart 
and scorching her very life. God pity her.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


For out of the heart man belie veth unto 
righteousness. — P aui.. 

OcHOOi, CI.OSKD Friday, August 31. Monday 
^ morning bright and early Zach stood at Jake 
Ilderton’s gate. He carried with him a heavy 
maul and wedge and a long, keen-bladed axe. 
He was ready for business. 

“Good mornin’, Zachie, good mornin’; we 
ain’t done eatin’ yit; kim in and tek a bite,’’ was 
the welcome he received. 

“No, thank you, Jake — I’ve had breakfast.’’ 

“Waal, come in an’ wet yo’ goozle.’’ 

“No, thank you.” 

“You won’t kim in an’ tek a drap o’ apple- 
jack jes fur yo’ stummick sake?’’ 

“No; excuse me, Jake; I don’t need it; my 
stomach digests all I’ll give it. Hard work is 
better for me than apple-jack.” 

“Waal, dad-burn sich a critter!” 

The two men walked off toward the woods 
where the rails were to be split. 


'58 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEC^H 


“Now, Zack,’’ said Jake, “here’s the timber; 
light een, and I’ll step back and finish breakfast 
and then go to my work at the still.’’ 

“Yes; I wish you would just quit that work, 
Jake; once and forever, and come along and help 
me split these rails.’’ 

“Tut, man; don’t ye know hit’s a heap easier 
ter mek liquor an’ sell it than hit is ter dig a 
livin’ outen these rocks?” 

“Kasier, now Jake; but you are damming up 
the waters; you are piling up trouble for your- 
self and your children,” said Zach. “Took out.” 

“O, you be durned,Zach, an’ stop yo’ preachin’; 
I didn’t hire ye ter preach — I hired ye ter split 
rails.” 

Jake Ilderton was a shaggy, uncouth thing t<^ 
be called a man, but he loved his children with a 
devotion that was beautiful, and Zach’s allusion 
to the curse that he might bring upon them stung 
him to the quick. He cared nothing for him- 
self, but he went to the still that morning an 
unhappier man. 

The timber was fine and the weather was per- 


HOW ZAdH CAMIC TO COLtEGE 15^ 

feet. So Zach set for himself a task of 250 rails 
a day. He was now within one year of his 
diploma. His health was splendid, his mother 
was alive, and with a few more dollars he would 
have enough money to take his diploma and 
“owe no man anything.” These thoughts passed 
through his mind, quickened his pulse-beat and 
the strong man drove his keen blade into the 
large timber with such force as sent it almost to 
the eye of the axe and brought great beads of 
sweat to his manly forehead. Zach really enjoyed 
the work. He was alone, but in good company. 
In the last few years he had learned enough of 
the mysteries of nature to wonder how anyone 
could ever feel lonesome with a book of such 
marvelous beauty spread wide open before him- 
Every stone had for him a message now; while 
every bud or bird was to him a printed page. 

The midday meal with Jake’s interesting 
family was immensely enjoyed. The conversa- 
tion took rather a wide range for such a company. 
Jake was glad to go to the house when the dinner 
horn blew, while the pale-faced mother, Dorinda 


l6o HOW ZACH CAME 1^0 COEEEGE 

and little Jake, so fond of the teacher, found the 
dinner hour all too short. 

Things went well till Friday. Dorinda com- 
plained of “feelin’ bad” and refused to eat. 
Zach examined the child’s pulse and found that 
she had high temperature. He remarked that 
^he child had considerable fever and ought to 
have a doctor to see her at once. 

Jake sent off for Dr. Ramsheur. 

“He’s jest a ‘yearb doctor,’ but he’s all we hes 
iu these parts, an’ uverbody sends fur ’im,” said 
the father. 

Dr. Ramsheur came, said the child was “tol- 
er’ble sick,” and gave her a strong concoction 
made of some roots taken from his mink-skin bag. 

“The lectle gall ’ll be better in a day er two,’’ 
he said as he went down the steps, “but I’ll kim 
back termorrow jest to see how she’s gittin’ 
along.” He came and came again, changing his 
“yearb tea” every time. 

On the fourth day the fever was raging, the 
child was very red and restless and begged for 
Zach to remain by her side. Zach took the 


HOW ZACH CAMK TO COI,I,SG« l6l 

father to one side and said: “Jake, Dorinda is a 
very sick child. I don’t know, but I’m afraid 
she has scarlet fever.” 

“My God!” ejaculated the distressed father. 
He remembered the terrible scourge just beyond 
Bald mountain about six weeks before. 

“Great God, Zach, whut shill I do?” 

“Don’t get excited, Jake, we must have a 
doctor. Send for Dr. Jones. He lives fifteen 
miles from here, but he has treated scarlet fever, 
and you must have him.” 

Jake lost no time in getting Jim, his hired man, 
off after Dr. Jones. “Don’t spar’ ole Fannie, 
Jim,” he said. “Fetch the Doctor, ef youhevto 
leave the ole mar’ dead een the road.” 

Jim loved Dorinda, as did everybody who knew 
the yellow-haired child of eight summers. He 
rode hard and fast over the mountain. Fan, the 
sinewy little chestnut-sorrel, responding without 
a protest to every touch of his heavy heel. But 
the doctor was away from home, and Jim rode far 
into the night before he found him. 

At 8 o’clock the next morning Dr, Jones diS" 


i 62 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE 


mounted at the gate of the notorious Horse Foot 
moonshiner. 

Jake and Zach and the faithful mother had sat 
through the long, weary hours of the night watch- 
ing by the side of the little sufferer. Just before 
day there was slight evidence of delirium. Zach 
noticed the first symptom — he was watching for 
it; but he said nothing of it, hoping that the 
parents might not observe it. The child clasped 
her hands and uttered a prayer that she had heard 
her teacher make at school, and then clutched at 
some imaginery object. 

Poor Jake! he trembled now^ and said in a half 
.sobbing way, “Zachie, fur God’s sake, ain’t she 
teched een her mind?” 

Before the sympathetic teacher could speak, 
the child turned her eyes toward the door and 
said, in a sweet, childish, pleading voice, “Come 
in, he won’t hurt ye.’’ And then, as if disap- 
pointed, she turned her eyes on Jake, and said, 
“Pappy, them’s angels, but they won’t come in 
— they air skeerdt o’ you.’’ 

Sweet, patient and gentle Margaret Ilderton 


HOW ZACH CAM^ TO COI,I,EGE 


163 


buried her face in her hands, large tears ran down 
the cheeks of the faithful teacher, and poor Jake 
sobbed piteously. 

“We’ll not give her up yet, Jake,” said Zach, 
applying another cold cloth to her parched brow. 
“We’ll take her to the Great Physician,” point- 
ing upward, “and ask him to help Dr. Jones, 
when he comes.” 

Dr. Jones stepped into the room. With just a 
nod at the three anxious watchers, he walked to 
the side of the bed, and looking down into the 
face of the child, said, slowly but emphatically, 
“S-c-a-r-l-e-t f-e-v-e-r.” 

The intelligent physician, who had treated so 
many cases of scarlet fever, knew what to do, 
and went to work without loss of time. 

The distressed father watched his every move- 
ment. After a while he said, “Doctor, kin ye 
save the leetle gal?’’ 

“God Almighty knows, my friend,” was the 
reply. “I’ll do the best I can, but I tell you now^ 
she’s a desperately ill child.” 

That was poor consolation to poor, ignpran^ 


i 64 how zach came to coeeege 

Jake Ilderton. His heart sank within him; he 
ran out into the yard and wept bitter tears. “My 
God,’^ he said, “ef I knowed how to pray, I’d 
pray; but I nuver prayed, I can’t pray.” Then, 
looking up, he said, “Jesus, spar my leetle gal.” 
Miserable, O, how miserable was poor Jake! He 
couldn’t stay out of the house, and he couldn’t 
stay in. His very heart strings were being torn 
as never before. 

The faithful physician watched patiently by the 
side of the little child until 3 o’clock in the after- 
noon. Then giving explicit directions to Zach 
and the mother, he remounted his tired horse and 
rode back across the mountains. He promised to 
be back before 10 o’clock tomorrow, if he could, 
but charged them to watch closely, for he believed 
the crisis would be reached before another sun 
would rise. 

At 8 o’clock in the evening the child was quiet 
and resting. A neighbor, a sensible woman, had 
come in to help watch through the night. To her 
and the mother Zach repeated the directions of 
the physician, and told them be would run over 


HOW ZACH came; TO COI,I,«GB 


65 


to see how his mother was getting on. He 
promised to be back in an hour. 

A hundred yards from the house Zach repeated 
the words: “And a little child shall lead them.’’ 
He looked back and saw poor, wild Jake standing 
in the door, looking up at the stars and wringing 
his hands. Then turning his own eyes toward the 
heavens where the stars were twinkling, the big- 
hearted teacher said: “Father, spare the dear 
child, if it please thee; but whether she live or 
die, save Jake Ilderton, save Jake Ilderton!” 

Jake sat down by the little one’s bed, and with 
the great rough hand of a loving, suffering father, 
he touched as gently as he could the hand of the 
child he loved better than his own life. The 
little sufferer opened her eyes for a second, and 
then, in a clear, distinct voice, uttered twowords» 
“Blood, whiskey.” 

Jake Ilderton knew nothing for several minutes. 
When he regained consciousness, he ran out into 
the yard, threw himself on his knees, and lifting 
his eyes toward the hills, cried opt ih all the 
anguish of his sppl; 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGK 


l66 


“O, God, hev it kim ter this ! hev it kim ter 
this! Is ye tekin’ the child fur my doin’s? O, 
Ivody, spar’ my chile and tek me. I ain’t no 
’count, tek me. I bin a mighty mean man, but 
I’m mighty sorry fur it. Please, Jesus, jes spar’ 
the leetle gal. I been a mean man. I kilt four 
men. I kilt Josh Lindsay, but I wus young then 
and didn’t know no better. I kilt Cy Bell. He 
cussed me an’ I kilt him. Lordy, I’m mighty 
sorry. Then I kilt Ben Fowler. He mint my 
ister. Lord, an’ I hed to kill ’im, I jes hedtokill 
»im. Then I kilt the revenue. He kilt my 
daddy, an’ I jes kilt him. I’m mighty sorry, 
Lord, but I can’t fetch ’em ’back ter life. O, 
Lordy, spar’ the leetle gal, an’ I’ll nuver kill 
3^nother man ez long ez I live. Spar’ my chile, 
O, Lord, an’ I’ll jine the church. I’ll quit 
cussin’.” 

Poor, helpless Jake! the light of his home was 
about to be extinguished, and he was in the dark- 
ness of despair. Staggering to the fence, he cried 
out once again, “O, Jesus Marster, spar’ de leetle 
gall jes spar’ de leetle gal, an’ I’ll sar ve yc right 


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“o. GOD, IS YE TEKIN’ the CHILD FUR MY DOIN’S ?” 





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HOW ZACH CAME TO COIXEGE 


167 


Spar’ my leetle Dorinda, I^ord, an’ I’ll nuver mek 
another drap o’ apple-jack, an’ I’ll lick enny man 
dat tries ter mek it in Horse Foot Cove. O, 
Jesus, spar’ Dorinda, an’ I’ll bus’ de haid onten 
uver bar’l o’ apple-jack I’ve got. Lordy, sp— ” 
Jake leaped to his feet and ran into the house. 
His countenance was all aglow. “Dorinda will git 
well,’’he cried, “Dorinda will git well; sumpin’ 
^old me so!’’ He was about to take Dorinda in 
his arms, but was prevented by the faithful wife, 
who ^pleaded with him to keep quiet and not 
wake the child now resting. Zach returned 
after a while and found Jake in the yard leaping 
for very joy and praising God for His promise. • 
The cricis was passed. Dr. Jones arrived at 
nine next morning, and as soon as he glanced at 
the child, said, “Dorinda is better this morning. ” 
Jake was standing at the doctor’s back. When 
he heard the words, “Dorinda is better,’’ he 
dropped on his knees and cried out: “Thank 
God! I telled ye so! I telled ye so!’’ Then turn- 
%g, with one bound cleared the steps aitd ran 
rapidly toward the still, 


i68 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEEGE 


Jim, his assistant, was there at work. ‘'Roll 
uver bar’l o’ apple-jack out here, Jim,’’ Jake 
shouted, “roll ’em out an’ let me send ’em to 
hell whar they belong. ’ ’ 

Jim protested against such great waste. 

“Shet yo’ mouth,” cried Jake, “I promised 
the lyord, and ivery drap shall go.’’ 

Seizing an axe he began bursting in barrel 
heads, and ripe old apple-jack commenced rolling 
in a great stream down the mountain side. *‘Go, 
ye bit o’ hell-fire! Go back to the yearth fum 
whenst ye kim!’’ he shouted. “I’ll nuver mek 
another drap o’ ye, an’ I kin lick enny man 
whut tries to mek ye een Horse Foot.’’ 

Jade Ilderton had entered into a solemn cove- 
nant with Margaret’s God. He joined the 
church, told his experience reverently, and all 
the cove saw that the notorious moonshiner was 
another man. The whole congregation listened 
in profound silence, many of them in tears, to 
Jake’s experience. Wiping his moist eyes on 
his coat sleeve, he closed with these words: 
“Friends, I hey been a mighty mean man, but 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEEKOE 


169 


I mean to sarve God the balance o’ my days. I 
hain’t no lamin’, ye know, and can’t talk fur ’im 
much, an’ I can’t sing, but, thank God, I kin 
fight fur ’im, an’ hit will jestgi’ me pledjure to 
do it. I gin ye warnin’ now, friends; I prom- 
ised the lyord I would lick enny man whut tries 
to mek liquor in Horse Foot, an’ I’ll do it. He 
spar’d my leetle Dorinda an’ furgive my sins, an’ 
now I’m His’n to the eend uv life.” 

Strong men wept that day, and more than one 
woman shouted aloud the praise of Almighty 
God. Margaret Ilderton’s pale face was now 
radiant. A flood of light had come into her 
darkened soul, and for her life had a purer, 
sweeter, nobler meaning. 


CHAPTER XVlil. 


■LIaving mended shoes for his neighbors, having 
dug ditches, split rails, scattered manure — 
having done anything to earn an honest penny, 
Zach re-entered college now for the last time, set 
his face toward the coveted goal and resolutely 
fought his way through difficulties until he 
reached the end of his senior year. 

The much dreaded final examination is passed, 
and the mountaineer feels that he has fought a 
good fight. And he has. He has made a good 
record as a student, he has maintained his integ- 
rity, he has honestly won his diploma, and he 
can look the world in the face and say of a truth" 
“I owe no man anything.” 

It is commencement day again. Eight long 
years have passed since the mountaineer first 
entered that auditorium. Then, he sat in a pew, 
an obscure backwoodsman; to-day he sits on the 
rostrum, the most observed, because he is the 
largest and handsomest man of the class — he ha^ 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COLLEGE I7I 

won his place by persistent, uncompromising 
blows. 

The speakers were arranged in alphabetical 
order, the mountaineer’s name beginning with 
W. , appearing last on the program, and the sub- 
ject of his address, “Labor Omnia Vincet. ’* 

The other speeches delivered, the venerable 
President of the College briefly related the inci- 
dent of a young mountaineer’s accidental attend- 
ance upon the commencement exercises in that 
hall eight years before, and of his resolve before 
he left the auditorium to speak on that platform 
some day himself. Then he alluded to the young 
man’s fight with poverty, his manly independence^ 
his unflinching courage, his high sense of honor, 
his devotion to duty, and said: “Ladies and 
gentlemen, it gives me real pleasure to introduce 
as the next speaker that same mountaineer, Mr. 
Zachariah Timothy Whetstone, of North Caro- 
lina.’’ 

There had never occurred in that hall at any 
other time such a demonstration of popular feel- 
ing. The kind but truthful words just spoken by 


1^2 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COEtEGE 


the President, the mountaineer’s great popularity 
among the students and in the city, his magnifi- 
cent physique and striking personality — all these 
set the audience wild. 

The distinguished looking gentleman about 
whom so many questions had been asked by 
strangers present, advanced to the front of the 
stage, but the applause was so great and continued 
so long, he could not begin his address. He 
politely bowed his appreciation, but that only 
increased the demonstration. The college boys 
in the galleries thundered their applause as only 
boys can do, enthusiastic ladies wore their delicate 
fans to frazzles on the back of seats and gray- 
bearded men with moistened eyes clapped their 
hands in hearty approval; nor did this cease until 
the President raised his hand in appeal to the 
audience. The mountaineer became a little ner- 
vous, his muscles twiched slightly, but his accus- 
tomed smile played all the while over his hand- 
some face. He uttered the first sentence in clear, 
distinct tones that penetrated the remotest corner 


HOW ZACH CAME TO COI^EEGE 


173 


of the spacious auditorium, and again the ap- 
plause was renewed and continued several seconds. 

There was one woman near the rostrum who 
did not join in the applause. While others 
around her applauded, she buried her face in her 
hands and wept; wept not tears of grief or sorrow, 
but sweet, precious, joyous tears — the man thus 
honored was her baby boy. 

The exercises concluded, the President of the 
College, and many distinguished visitors, has- 
tened to congratulate the happy mother of the 
hero of the occasion. The proud mother was too 
full to express her thanks, but looked them 
through her smiles and tears, and in her heart 
thanked God for him, who, to her, was the greatest 
man on earth. 

The mountaineer, as soon as he could free him- 
self from the hands of his admiring classmates 
and fellow-students, made his way to his mother, 
and, imprinting upon her happy face an affec- 
tionate kiss, handed her his diploma, saying: 
“Here, mother, take this; it is yours, not mine.” 
She clutched the parchment and pressed it to 


174 


HOW ZACH CAME "tO COtEEGE 


her heart. She knew that she could never read 
it, for it was written in I^atin; but she also knew 
that it was the testimonial of the greatest triumph 
of her son. Then mother and son, arm in arm, 
walked out of the hall, the embodiment of 
unalloyed, immeasurable happiness. 

Has the reader become sufficiently interested 
to wonder what became of the subject of this 
sketch? You shall know. He returned to his 
mountain home, and, as soon as he was able, 
erected on his own land a neat, commodious 
school building in which, during all these years, 
he has conducted a successful, prosperous high 
school. He has managed his mother’s little farm 
well; has bought lands adjoining it, and is pastor 
of three Baptist Churches nestled among the hills 
he loves so well. The Rev. Zachariah Timothy 
Whetstone is the best beloved and most influ- 
ential citizen in all that mountain region, and his 
hard, common sense, successful school and fear- 
less preaching have done more than all the laws 
and guns of Uncle Sam to stop illicit distilling in 
that highly favored section of North Carolina. 


HOW zAch came to coli^ege 


1^5 


Old Jack was faithful to the end of his days, 
and now sleeps in a well-kept grave near the Big 
Gum Spring. Towser and Zeno long ago ceased 
to challenge the raccoon and the squirrel. Each 
had a decent burial, the faithful master saying: 
**The good old dogs always did the best they could 
— what living thing could do more?‘’ 

Did Zach marry Katie? She is the mistress of 
his home, the guiding star of his life, and both 
are happy in the lives of their two children — little 
Katie, the duplicate of her mother, and young 
Zach, “a chip off the old block.” 

The aged mother still lives to bless the home of 
her stalwart son, and every Sunday hears the 
gospel preached by him into whose baby ears she 
first whispered the name of jKsus. 




THE END 




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